The Assassin
by V H Hellenstein
Summary: The Vindicare Temple is on a hunt for new blood, 2000 handpicked Imperial Guards of specific age, height and characteristic were sent to an unspecified location. 6 hours later, 1977 were sent away, in body bags. Rating to M next Chap, please set to Alert.
1. Chapter 1: Test

Author's Note: Yes, its my exam season and I just can't be bothered picking up my economics text book, the keyboard looks so much more welcoming after I took a little dive into a portion of the Fall of the Roman Empire. It seems Space Marines and their arduous initiation, training, physical and mental conditioning, camaraderie building and punishments are very much adapted from Roman Legionnaires. Imagine such practice were already in place 2000 years ago…fascinating. Anyhooo… This is my first attempt in the Warhammer 40k fictional universe, and I am trying to encompass the trials and tribulations of a Vindicare Assassin. Please do let me know if any facts are misconstrued or missing!

Comment and Critique Please!

Disclaimer: The author does not own the fictional universe of Warhammer 40k save for The Assassin's storyline, characters and the whole jazz.

* * *

**The Assassin**

"_The Imperium of men has thrived for millennia under the watchful eye of the emperor, where his undying, inanimate exterior rest eternal in his Golden throne, yet his mind and sacred presence seethe into the hearts of his subjects and people. He remains immortal, his voice golden, and his hand guides all of men in unity. He reaches a thousand stars, a-hundredth of systems, to the infinite universe. He brings justice onto demons that twist our minds, those that follow, repent._

_He brought misery and plight, into the light under the guidance of his holy wings; bands of lost lambs to stand united, against our terrible foes; he lead those who astray and gave them meaning, for humanity; he restores Order from Chaos._

_Save us from Chaos, for their sordid existence would have tainted us all._

_From Holy Terra he watches, guide the silver bullet, the machine spirit, and my will to strike down my target."_

_-Valaruz 18th, Vindicare Assassin.

* * *

_

**I - TEST**

"_They will experience extreme distress, they will see death, they will drown in their brethren's blood for days, weeks and years, and baptized be in tragedy, pain and idleness till all taste for woes are lost, till numbness rendered to all humane emotions and agitation. It is then they are ready, and whole in mind and spirit to receive their holy duty and mission." _

The air smelt dank and sour, mixed with a dizzying, arid smell of sulfur and ceremonial salt that burns eternally and religiously in immortal symbolism. The engraved, ornate pillars held and supported the tall, heavy and rounded ceiling, echoing emptiness and silence to its denizens. Those who stood below ignored the hollow ringing of the halls, distracted greatly by the discomfort set by the humid breeze, ebbing tiny beads of sweat all over their sticky bodies.

The wide expanse of the empty hall hung with deadly silence, fearful respect and cold respite as a wizened Priest stood tall at the pedestal overlooking two thousand young clean shaven, solid men and women recruited from the Imperial Guard, stripped bare to the bottom, naked without any garment to shield against the staunching humidity and the occational of gust of chilly air. They were spaced out 3 feet evenly in a square column, stood rigidly and motionless at almost the same height.

A silver eyepiece of an augmented Auspex was strapped and implanted into the Priest's left eye, with its ugly cords and wires snaked into his ears. Its glowing red lens constantly tweaks while scanning vigilantly at every individual recruits. His frown attested his irk, and breathed heavier when he lifted his mechanized finger, tipped with an optics lens, lit with a visible laser beam and marked a female recruit on her forehead, prompting a floating skull probe, that was resting next to the priest, to whiz above the female.

The bald, young female shifted uncomfortably as the skull probe flew in closer until it levitated past her, her relief was short lived until she felt a stinging electric wave running violently from the back of her neck through her entire body. Her body jerked brutally before she excreted a puddle of urine on the cold marble slab she slumped lifelessly to.

As expected, the recruits that stood immediately around her gasped and winced in shock and disgust, prompting the Priest to continually and mercilessly mark them, granting them the suffering of incapacitation and humiliation.

All that merely stole a curious glance, shifted their limbs, trembled, or even blinked consecutively out of nervousness evoked the zealous minister's wrath and anger, over a matter of minutes, the total of two thousand men and women were reduced to a mere 400. Most lay motionless on the ground emitting a nauseous, mix stench of excrement and slight smell of cooked human meat, several that roused were further tormented and put down by the mechanized probe, ever baring its ever sinister grin while it duly follows its masters guidance.

The graying Priest showed no compassion.

His fury stretched to no end as he continued punishing those he deemed unworthy, his bionic eye scanned furiously while his tyrannical mechanical finger passed his hardened, cold judgments on those dumbfounded soldiers.

One hour has passed, and another 174 gone, many fidgeted and given to the mounting physical and mental stress caused by their rigid stance and the horrid environment.

Soon, to the remaining 226, they have realized that it is becoming terrible, sadistic game, though they were unsure of the outcome of such torment. It was simple logic, without instructions, harsh punishment are induced to those who flinch at the first sign of distress, and the punishment is to further prove the weak shall be culled. The ultimate winner would be one with the most resilient.

With that stronger resolve, the following two hours only resulted in 3 casualties with the priest's unchanging consistent frown. Now those that remain, in the distressed phenomenon, have bonded mentally with a common desire to defeat the Priest's tyranny and arrogance, together with their resilience, they wanted to break the frown further into frustration.

Another hour has passed, and though their bladders could not hold, they excrete shamelessly, and though their stomach growled, they held their courage, hoping that the Priest would eventually yield to their spirit. And finally, the Priest moved towards to a pedestal where he rested his hand on, filling the soldiers with some hope that he would call off this monstrosity.

Before they could rejoice, they took one full glance of the Priest's glaring eye before the hall pulled itself into darkness, causing several to jump in the sudden turn of event. Then, in the blinding darkness the real terror began when the Priest's laser beam flashed in wide sweeps until it stopped at its marked. The effect of the subsequent jolt were more terrifying, where the darkness amplified the skull probe's sparking horror, its voltage were reduced as it took two to three hits before the target could feel the pain and howled in pain and agony and finally collapsed in a fit. This new level of psychological fear and terror tactics pushed the soldier's limits, and the punishment has once again picked up its pace as more fell to his command, and to the fearsome electric bolts.

Several scrambled and tried running away aimlessly before he or she were hunted down and put down.

It lasted only several minutes before the lights returned.

There were only 36 left standing, many were visibly shaken, several females held their tears in sobs. The Priest, yet again, passed on his cruel punishment without mercy to the emotionally weakened. A more muscular man lost his temper and broke away from his formation in a violent protest, attempting a futile effort to attack the cruel master, several more followed, but all were put down with just a raise of the judge's cold finger.

Silence ensued.

23 were left, 4 females and 19 males, many were visibly angry, cowed or confused, while 3 of them remained fairly calm and composed.

The first one was a stout and very well-built male, and had a brown, tanned complexion. His meaty, gaunt face and pursing lower lip had the Priest guessed him of a very disciplined, serious and competitive character. The second was a female, she too was physically fit, with corded muscles around her thighs and calves. Her unmoving glare was fierce, vigilant and almost cold. The third was a flexible and slender male, he was fair but tanned, his muscles were not as developed as the rest but his deep steely penetrating blue eyes exuded great intelligence.

The Priest remained silent with his frown, and brushed his thin, grey hair stoically before turning away into the adjacent chambers wordlessly.

In this instance, the Temple orderlies, hooded, hunched and careful, attended the remaining soldiers with warm robes. However, they remained still and silent for they were unsure if the monstrosity was over. After a thorough consolation by the orderlies only did the recruits broke their stance and do as they were told.

Barefooted, dirty and tired, they were led away quietly across the halls into another chamber.

The fierce looking female took a final glance at the 1977 odd soldiers, several was already rousing, struggling to get on their feet when a large grotesque, bi-pedal construct with wide excavator-like arms, roared into the hall and began its mechanical duty in picking up the bodies and shoving them into a large shallow pit like they were nothing but rag dolls.


	2. Chapter 2: Three

Authors' note – Thanks to N.Kage for my first review! Corrections will be made to clarify the proper function and design of the augmented Auspex. Meanwhile, in this chapter, the main focus would be dwelled on the personalities of the three main characters. Enjoy!

* * *

"_It was a time of contest, and none showed any form of clemency. They will trick and deceive, lie and swindle without mercy, and you will return them the same favor. But once you fall, you cannot fall any further but out of the cycle of deceit and fierce competition. Prove your mettle, show your strength, unleash you wit, your endurance, wisdom and compassion, all roads you travel and you will still be betrayed. It was a sadistic game to play, as it's a game deserving to only to those who can and those who truly dare to live alone." _

_- Valaruz 18th, Vindicare Assassin.

* * *

_

**II - THREE**

"_This is obviously a test, where men and women alike are lined and mixed together, all are shaven and stripped to meddle and sap our strength, I know not of their intentions, I don't need to. Give me a bull and I'll wrestle, give me the freezing mountain and I'll conquer, give me daemon and I'll slaughter. They will learn that Calsus de Marche is not an easy prey."_

The stout, hulking man silently acknowledged himself as he moved achingly ahead of the measly entourage along the dimly lid and hollow corridor, he smiled knowing that he has lived up to his self promised victory, a victory over an inhumane test over body and mind, thus making him something else, or greater, than the average being.

But he was not all content.

He stole a glance backward and granted himself a self-satisfactory smile, seeing the remaining survivors, shaken and limp, and their souls almost wrecked by the sheer tragedy, yet him, managed a confident and unwavering smile.

He grit his teeth together, huffed and straightened his broad, muscular back and continued striding forward with renewed power and strength, completely disregarding the throbbing pain between in his thighs. _A miniscule test_, he brushed off memories the test, a passion of fury overtook him as he imagine the future challenges that lies before him.

He will have to prove to himself and everyone else time and again when the real contest comes. No, it was not enough to win the contest, he would assert that he would the dominant force that seizes control and respect, the alpha male that will lead and inspire, to intimidate and cow the lesser men in fearful retreat; and to that measure, he has every confidence in his own physical built, incredible strength and his seemingly limitless energy. It would be deceivingly simple - he would stand tall like fortified towers, cast a terrifying shadow over an already shriveled mind and eliminate all that dare rise above him.

He would conquer all.

* * *

"_Come, show me why I'm here!" her fierce green eyes flared with burning conviction and unwavering confidence when the Priest raised his mechanical finger towards her direction. She begs to be tested, and thirst for a challenge that would push her beyond human limits. _

The accumulating stench of feces and cooked human meat still lingers, together with the sequential playback of soldiers falling over likes a string of domino pieces, even her own excrement and her natural impatience, clings onto her skin and soul stubbornly like a rotting disease. Kira Symmachus II, was thinking of nothing less than to get rid of the smell that was gnawing on her finicky desire for sanitation, and she desire all the more to be away from these pitiful, defiled creatures that surrounds her; the miserable, degenerate sight was sapping her of the confidence for esteem, pride and power she placed in the human spirit.

She was increasingly annoyed by her surroundings as she was wedged in the middle of the moving column, the mixed stinking odor, of sweat and excrement attacked from all directions, playing nauseating tricks in her mind, and even more irritating were the effortless transformation of these solid, trained and disciplined soldiers into to wallowing, self-pitying, lowly esteemed creatures. She glanced to her right where a taller female limped closely beside her; biting her bottom misshapen lip while clutching her large aching thigh in a pointless attempt to withhold pain.

_Disgusting, _she concluded after such display of frailty.

No one knew why they were here, but the test was tough and it could only mean they are going through a selection for an important role in the Guard. And those who pulled through are indeed people of unique caliber and determination. If anything, it would have made them stronger, prouder and with reinforced resilience worth a thousand steel. While those who live it through with whose only desire is to survive, and to lick it wounds with tears of sorrow, morbid anger and petty hatred is nothing more than a cowardly, primitive being running away from its predator.

_It's a weakness that defeats entirely the ideals, nature and spirit of a warrior, _she thought and observed with sinking frustration. _You all don't deserve to be here.

* * *

_

_He studied and observed the situation elaborately, and commended himself for his own wise decision to remain at the back of the entire score of 2000 men. From that vantage point, he could see all that is happening and managed to collect the necessary information to deduce why they were here. From the moment the first girl was struck, to the fall of everyone within the proximity, he concluded that this was a strict process of elimination to filter the weak and those who are easily distracted. Everybody was of the almost the same height, body mass, and age, stripped of clothing, hair and material belongings that characterized personal identities. Are they to form a special tactical squad? Or the conscription of a lone hunter?_

_The singularity and harsh selection method strongly suggested that it's a weak process to identify collective group dynamics, the rapid elimination base on a single criteria had him hypothesized that if they are instead, looking for an effective individual, and if it was true he would have to be ready for more surprises, they would be more than happy to flush out as many as possible to save themselves the trouble and resources at a later stage. _

The extended and prolonged period of concentration during the elimination period proofed to be a simple obstacle for Koch Dessler. His predictions, assumptions and hypothesis has held true so far, and now that is over, his head is swims rigorously ahead and to formulate strategies to ensure further victories.

_I would need an ally, _he concluded immediately.

He was exceptionally confident in his reasoning, strategic and intelligence capabilities. The many paths he took were constructed of precise probabilities, calculated failures and logical, average assumptions, and all he needed at that moment of time was someone, trusting, stronger in built, friendly and somewhat dimwitted to make up for his physical flaws as he can begin feel the amounting physical stress taking a toll on his mental focus.

Koch usually dismisses manipulation and political strategies for his utter dislike for fickle, undependable reliance, but this fierce and potential fatal situation urged him for a more pragmatic, if not dirtier approach.

He remained at the back of the entourage to further study the dynamics and the invisible power play of his competition, and immediately he singled out the possibility of allying with the massive male that is leading the entourage, he would be a valuable ally, but being close to him will probably weaken and overshadow Koch himself. In fact, he prefers not to depend on anyone for this is a game meant for only one victor.

And he wanted his victory complete.

* * *

_Three potential individuals of different backgrounds, strengths, flaws and drive, _the graying Priest summarized as he was looking through Calsus, Kira and Koch's military profiles in his quiet minimalist office.

_A Praetorian, a Jantine Patrician and a Jopall Indentured, _he contemplated and adduced the different inherent traits, skills and qualities these individuals from different sectors of universe might possess, and he sighed. _Three potential recruits with equally attractive traits,_ he thought as he floated away in wishful thinking, but of course, through tradition, there can only be one Vindicare Assassin.


	3. Chapter 3: Rules

Author's note: Five reviews! Bloody awesome! -Does the insane man dance- ahem... a big opening thank you to those who have been reading my modest entries. I am sincerely grateful, there is nothing more motivating than having someone to appreciate and share your work with .

Weeee-------------- Long entry, enjoy.

**III – RULES**

The sight of the threadbare sleeping quarters received mixed feelings from the worn, tired group. Layers after layers of dust caked the bunk beds, chattels, and even the hardened wood floor. Most soldiers, including Calsus, rejoiced with triumphant relief while Kira looked ever more frustrated with the almost unsanitary living conditions. Koch merely counted the total number of beds.

"Soldiers! Listen up!" a mature, gruff voice barked, immediately drawing the their attention to an elderly woman dressed in a highly stretchable black striped, grey jumpsuit. Her eyes and cheeks sagged with the weight of aging and wisdom, with hardened wrinkle that burned of ferocity and expounding authority. Her ascetic silvery grey crew-cut boosted her resolute personality, combined with a constant snarl, that bears at all times her almost perfect faux, straight-lined teeth, ready to verbally whip soldiers into their rightful places.

"I will only say everything once, no questions, not a single utterance! Request for a repeat, or for any explanations, and you will be off, ridden and away without a second thought!" she barked again. "I am Major-Commissar Jh'nerolaz, and you low-lives will refer to me as I'm titled – Major-Commissar Jh'nerolaz! Any stupid, half-witted acronyms, nicknames, or names that YOU THINK will make my name calling any easier will, with no doubt, receive punishments in the worst imaginable way!" she began pacing in small rhythmic patterns.

"You lot are now standing on the sacred grounds of the Vindicare Temple, and you can bet with your sorry lives that you have been most fortunate to lay on your eyes on it, where 332 Vindicare assassins have been trained in over 515 years!

This is not a bloody field trip, as you low-lives might have already guessed! You are here because you have been selected and recommended by your Generals from your respective regiments for your meager and minute military achievements. Yes fools, be happy, wag your tails, wet yourself in delirious joy like a dog. You can brag, dance or fucking get laid with it but they mean nothing to us until you prove yourself here in these grounds!

You will be tested, you will be stretched to your limits, and you will compete with each other in situations that may take your life! In the end, there can only be one Vindicare Assassin. And let me tell you a secret, we are not obliged to select anyone from you lot, you might be the best amongst your batch, but if you do not live up to our expectations, we can always rid all of you and recruit anew!

This," she gestured the wooden hall. "…is where you sleep, and unfortunately this year there are a few more survivors than we normally expect. So some of you will have to sleep while you stand tonight, I care not! Deal with it! More bunks will arrive the following sunrise," she stopped finally, drawing a long deep breath.

"GROUND RULES!" she barked.

"One! You will wake up at 4 every morning!

Two! Training and test sessions are compulsory, be punctual!

Three! Wander even an inch beyond the 5 miles radius of the Temple Grounds and I will personally blast your brains out!

Four! Your lives belong to the Emperor; no one here is allowed to take each other's without permission or consent!

Other than those rules! You are free to do as you wish, sleep as long as you like, eat as much as you like! But remember, failure in any way during your trainings and tests means you're useless, and when you're useless, we have no need for you!

Remember dogs! You do your own laundry and cook your own meals! Time now is 2034, and I will be here to brief you at exactly 0400 tomorrow morning, dismiss!" the Commissar, without another word squeezed through the crowd and dashed off to the only exit, leaving behind fragments of mutterings and quizzical glances. The slouching orderlies followed suit in haste and fear; which further aggravated the soldiers.

Such extended freedom was completely unexpected, as they were very used to the rigidity and strict corporal regulations that defined their soldiering qualities, thus many felt partially idle and capped with their new found independence. They shifted around uncomfortably, waiting for somebody to take first move.

Calsus, without hesitation, immediately took a big giant step forward to the lower bunk nearest to the exit, on that cue, the rest quickly scrambled to get a hold of their own. Kira managed to seize the bed directly opposite of Calsus, for the plain reason that she wanted to be ahead in any situations. Koch, on the other hand, leisurely took his time wandering about.

The room soon turned into a chaotic rumble as people dashed from one bed to another, almost in a frenzy spirit to secure the bottom bunk.

As Kira stood over her dusty sheets, restless at the dirty sight, the taller girl that was limping earlier on came closer to her and whispered, "You don't mind if I be your neighbor?" she forced a weary smile. Kira studied her for awhile and shook her head. "Go ahead," she replied curtly. But to her horror, her new neighbor climbed up and quickly crashed into her bed of dust without hesitation, followed by a thick rising fog of dust and a series of irritable, hacking cough.

Many within the group followed suit, they yawned and stretched without a care in their new beds.

She winced in disgust, wondering how they could rest under such filthy circumstances. They were all still stinking in sweat and feces, and now soundly resting in dust.

_Animals, _she grimaced.

She also particularly noticed a slender male walking around and quickly surmised that he failed to compete for his own bed. _The weak has already emerged,_ an amusing smile carved upon her lips.

* * *

Koch walked by slowly through the ends of the hall, glancing to his left and right. Quite expectantly, he got some less than welcoming response. 

"Get lost,"

"Tough luck bud,"

"Don't even try thinking of grabbing my bed when I'm not around, berk,"

After one full round, and made sure that there were only 11 bunk beds, he walked out the halls.

* * *

Calsus studied the room intently as the comparatively scrawny guy marched out of the room, he snickered with glee, knowing that the competition has now been officially reduced to 22. 

_Sleep deprivation is an enemy, you'll find yourself falling behind, weakling. _He looked directly opposite of his bunk and saw Kira holding a duster from the utility shelf located at the front of the hall, and now rigorously sweeping the dust on off her bed frames before removing the sheets altogether and tucking the pillow firmly between her arms.

"You'd be better off as a maid, sweet-cheeks," he broke into a throaty laughter, receiving a stoic glance in return.

"You got a name, puss?" he snickered.

She scanned superciliously the large man, "I don't see any reason to share one with a filthy swine, unless you're named after a pet for a dimwitted ork." she met his pertly ogle for a short moment before turning away and walked out into the halls, unperturbed by such shallow display of chauvinism. Calsus merely broke into another laughter.

"Try Calsus for a start, honey-puss!" he chuckled while his eyes trailed her buttocks as she made her way through the wide exit. "Feisty…" he smacked his lips, staring off into the blank space for a short moment before closing his eyes to slumber.

* * *

As Kira stepped back into the temple, she was immediately transcended miles away from the starkly shabby and hollow barracks, dwarfed by the tall, Gothic construct of the temple with every inch of the temple's walls carved profoundly in monumental value, weighted heavy in literary significance. Its intricately carved ancient runes and word of power spelt out in flawless, perfect High Gothic grammar, crafted by the highest of minds, expressed in exquisite calligraphy descended from millenniums ago of ages past, embodying the wondrous and mystical art known only to nobility. 

_Those pigs shan't deserve such magnificence, _she spits in disgust as she recalled the sty that she was going to live in, but perhaps, that is why those lowly creatures are living there now. But no, it was not to be the fate of a descendent and heir of the Jantine Patricians, the proud blood of the elite will flaunt its superiority and earn their rights to serve their equitable duties. The glory of her blood had her almost convinced that she belonged there.

_There will be no rooms for mistakes_, she reminded herself.

She quickly turned away and picked up her pace in search for the laundry room and shower halls as time grew short, she would want to obtain her much needed rest if she were to keep up with the others.

She walked down the hall whence they came from, and arrived at the entrance to the supplies chamber and laundry pit. Taking her right, she entered the laundry pit first where vast amounts of whirring, standard washing machines worked in unison. She quickly chucked her robes, sheets and pillows in the respective machines before sprinting out of the laundry room into the opposite supplies chamber. Manned by a servitor, she got herself a standard issue jumpsuit, a pair of boots, some undergarments, some clean towels and a disposable wrap towel to temporary cloth herself. She then proceeded in haste to the shower hall that was little down the hallway to the left.

The echo of the clamor pulsated by rains of water gave away the presence of another person as Kira entered the large shower hall. The steamy hall had the capacity of serving approximately 40 men and women, with long lines of open shower stalls on the East section, and the enclosed toilets and grooming section to the West.

She had originally hoped her shower would be a long quiet one, and now that is ruined, she felt annoyed as ever. Moving as quiet as possible to a nearby bench, she lay down her provisions before unwrapping herself, hoping that she could avoid any attempts for unnecessary 'socializing'.

"I must admit I did not expect anyone to leave their beds unguarded at this point of time," A male's voice called out to her from the steamy fog.

Kira held back for a moment only to receive the irregular drumming beats of streaming shower jets.

"Finding it hard to sleep with all that mess?" the male started again as he turned off the creaky shower with his feet began to slap noisily against the tiles towards her direction.

"Koch Desler, 4th Opal Company of the 56th Regiment, Jopall Indentured," from the thick fog, he stepped directly in front of her, but perhaps too close for her comfort as he met her gaze firmly with a derisive, confident smile. Beads of water trickled down the edge of his firm, toned muscles with his naked, tanned skin smelling fresh of chlorine and soap.

Kira stood silently before him, silently studying the rather distinguished but shady character, "Well, Koch," she breathed, "be assured that there's nothing I would give you in return for your name." she continued meeting his glazy eyes.

"I wouldn't expect any," he maintained his smile while he stepped aside, allowing her passage to the showers. "…just my silly notion of common courtesy between competitors."

"Charming," a smile carved on her lips as she glided with increasing amusement to the adjacent shower stall, "…although I'm quite certain a competitor you no longer remain, given your… bed trouble." she mused.

"On the contrary," Koch replied nonchalantly, "It would be my folly to grieve over such deceiving rewards."

"Strong words," she replied sarcastically while lathering her thighs with thick, white bathing foam, "…but I wonder if such admirable principles could hold out the night?"

He leaned his body against the wall and watched on as she began her shower, mindfully indulging himself with Kira's raw confidence, latent naivety and maybe, the slightly playful voyeuristic encounter on Kira's female sexuality. He remained quiet in thought.

"Very well," Koch finally broke the silence, "You seem like an intelligent sort, and I guess it would do me no harm to dissect my current stance for you."

"Please do," Kira replied again with sarcasm, hardly giving him a glance, completely taking him for a fool.

Koch drew a deep breath, "At the very basic, I judge by the humidity of the air and the average temperature of the environment we are in, combined with the fact that the temple is not air-conditioned with minimal artificial environment support system.

With the comparatively high and unbearable humidity, the unchanging temperature about 25 degree Celsius and the density and growth of broad leaved vegetations in the surroundings of the temple, I deduced that we are now located in a region with a climate similar to a tropical rainforest." Kira scrubbed her arms rigorously.

"Now we all know the tropical rainforest has the environment to accommodate a host of tropical diseases like the Rapid Leishmaniasis Type D, Chaos Trypanosomiasis, Leprosy 5 and a maybe, certain other diseases that hasn't yet been discovered. All those, with the commonality of acute symptoms like confusion, reduced concentration, nausea, coughing, headaches and fatigue are effective within minutes of contact to the regular soldier. 26 hours, for Imperial Guards who have been given the 3rd stage Immunization in Death Worlds like Catachan.

Running water, insects, animals, and a simple cough are all mediums for transmission for these potentially fatal diseases, and undoubtedly, when untreated, the agonizing climb to the final phase will utterly result in death." Kira slowed down her shower, and began diverting her attention to his surprisingly logical reasoning and vast knowledge; her cold sweat would have given away her nervousness if she was not standing before the hail of steaming shower.

"But of course," Koch breathed, "not even a muddled brain ork would be inclined to believe such reputed temple would remain undefended and susceptible to the attacks of these diseases," he said with a smile, relaxing Kira for a brief moment.

"However," he moved towards the bench where he deposited his provisions, "I would like to call attention to a certain disease called the Chagas, affecting primarily the heart, nervous system and the digestion system of its victims, - imagine one would lose control of his senses, appetite and suffers a deteriorating stamina due to the incapacity of the body's proper vital functions.

The disease's pathogenic agent is commonly transmitted by parasitic insects of the Triatominae family, ironically, known otherwise, as the Assassin Bug," he chuckled, "They prey on vetrebrate blood and is largely known to adapt to the human environment due to their need for stability of a shelthered habitat, and also to the accessibility of their meals. Either way, the common infestation of Triatomine, probably to none of your surprise, can be most easily found in human civilization, most true for unkept environments.

They are natural nocturnal creatures, preying their victims when the air is cool and when their victims asleep. They come in sizes no larger that a dot, or size as large your palm wher their presence are detectable by entrails of white or dark feces, otherwise, they are be more easily spotted when they are immobile after a full satisfying meal.

Now, given... the stark difference of our sleeping quarters in contruct, tidyness and seclusiveness against the orderliness and architecture of temple, what are the odds that these parasites are nesting between the gaps of a flimsy, dishevelled, 500 year-old wooden structure?" Koch reached into his duffle bag.

"Moreover, I'd imagine the state of the sleeping quarters and our..shocking welcome, firmly demonstrates our kind, benevolent host's lack of concern towards our hygiene and safety, for all imaginative reasons and intentions," he removed a palm-sized aluminium equipment that resembles a gun, tipped with a short hypodermic needle and 6 barrels for a sort of catridge. "…fested for years with the slumbering dust, you can also predict how the lingering microbes, viruses, and sporadics would react to their new bedfellows. Not even raising the possibility the different sort of bacterias and insects the human feces would attract.

Now I wonder," he replaced a 2 inch long catridge into one of the barrels, "if I'm truly the only one with bed problems?" He inserted the needle into his forearm and squeezed the trigger, dispensing a small amount of high pressured gas from the side of the device while he supressed a groan.

He looked up and met Kira's intrigued and almost disturbed eyes, "Casopodolic," he held the empty cartridge, "…a muscle relaxant for fatigued muscles and joints."

He searches his bag for a moment and hurled a metallic syringe towards Kira, catching it easily.

"What is this?" she asked quietly, rather overwhelmed by his perspectives.

"A common courtesy between competitors," he carved a smile, "To combat mental fatigue." He moved to get dressed in his jumpsuit, grabbed his bag and headed towards the exit.

"Desler!" she called out Koch's last name, "Your… 'courtesy' is well appreciated," slightly shameful of her arrogant attitude and her ignorance. "…in honorable return, you shall know my name - Kira Symmachus the Second, 6th Squad of the 2nd Regiment, Jantine Patrician."

Koch remained silent for a moment and said, "Noted, but a word of warning, never mistake my courtesy for friendliness, Patrician," before walking out into the halls.


	4. Interlude: Another Corruption

**-INTERLUDE-**

The Vindicare Assassin had to make sure the sentries are dead, silently dispensing two rounds of incendiary bullets each into both of the victims' skulls and hearts. The short intense combustion released by the fiery rounds always did its job to ensure its victims' eternal death - of messy and gruesome consequence. Flesh and bones melt, with its victims' organs and blood splattered violently across the lavish office.

Taking a crouching stance, Valaruz 18th increased the heat signature's range to 20 feet, identifying a pair of sentries patrolling the adjacent corridor that connects to the designated vantage point.

The assassin quickly turned and tugged a dangling thick cord from the ventilation shaft above, catching cleanly the thick, heavy and falling case from a latching mechanism. With the heavy, darkly green case in one hand, Valaruz 18th strode out of the office into the corridor, accurately placing 2 more rounds for each the unsuspecting sentries, one bullet in the head and another in the heart, bleeding a flow of stocky melted mix of blood, bone and flesh from the gaping wound.

Valaruz 18th stepped over the dead, mutilated bodies, passed the elevators, the waiting room and into an unremarkable, shadowed and unlit office at the 127th floor, with clear tall windows looking out into the immense, busy clutter of high-rises and spiraling roads.

_The objective arrives in a five minute's time, _the assassin checked the time against the objective. After sweeping clean the nearby desk, the heavy case was rested and unbolted upon the cleared space, revealing pieces of an unassembled Exitus. Valaruz 18th immediately removed the main stock, and assembled the pieces expertly into a lean, beautiful 6 feet weapon in exactly 10 seconds.

The assassin then proceeded to the far right window, carved a circle out no wider than 2 inch in diameter from the glass, and fitted cleanly the muzzle of the Exitus in a 2 degree downward angle. The Exitus' computerized scope searched carefully for the tiny opening between the choking squeeze of buildings and clogging traffic, and lined the crosshair slightly above a vacant leather chair in the target's office 1757 meters away.

The mission: To assassinate a figure of notable influence, power and control over an oligopolistic conglomerate that spans over 12 solar systems, and its core business - the mining of raw materials for military grade weapons. The Director, (the target) is under heavy suspicion for consorting with the Traitor Astartes. Initial investigations has also led to believe that the director's has also been personally tainted and marked by Chaos's twisted religion and ideals, as there were traces of suspicious financial traffic that linked to an uprising of minor cultists and sects.

However the Inquisition has neither strong grounds nor benefits to declare a Section XXI: Insipio Hereticus upon the corporation due to the lack of hard evidence. And should the entire organization be submitted to an open inquiry and heresy trial, there would be nothing short of a prevailing possibility of strong political repercussions, followed by a subsequent collapse of one of the major materials suppliers, wrecking the entire trading economy and inducing a deadly power struggle between the remaining competitors.

The Imperial command however, has other plans. By sanctioning the assassination, the Heresy has provided a sizeable opportunity for the Imperium to get a stronger hold and influence on the Laissez-faire market. Through the planting a puppet successor, the Imperium shall be able to drive and control the ever fluctuating prices and supplies to their favor. It also presents the opportunity to establish a larger network of commercial spies and the capability to further uncover any heresies or valuable information on the Great Enemy.

For 4 years, the delicate plan has been worked and re-worked to perfection, factoring in their goals, desirable results, effective methods of assassination, and the selection and placement of a perfect puppet. And over a year has been spent in studying the target's behaviors, movements, modes of transportation and day-to-day plans. Another 6 months was spent searching for a weakness in his seemingly impenetrable, fortress-like defense, where the corporation owned blocks after blocks of buildings and enterprises within the hive city, with security systems that outmatch even the Imperium. Even his personal security detail rivals a platoon of Elite Kasrkin.

Close quarters elimination, then, would be tactically unfeasible, where failure in his assassination would utterly result in a disastrous political aftermath. Declaring an open inquiry, too, would be the Imperium's folly under such honeyed prospects.

_Vindicare Assassin, _the Imperial Command decided - a subtle, flawless execution will send a vividly terrifying message – no one is untouchable.

And now that everything has been put into place, all that is left is for the Silver Bullet to set the events to motion.

The assassin waits.


	5. Chapter 4: Preparations

Author's Preamble: I can't stress enough how guilty I am for leaving the story alone for such prolonged period of time, my real-life was a bitch to catch up to…the massing of University assignments, the obligation to work…and getting over my relationship. Quite a big stumble really. Moreover, I suffered a massive writer's block in this chapter…its kind of clunky, but I just had to get rid this over with. Please, bear with me.

Reviews are like fuel for writing, it is of course, every author's greatest reward, I'm guessing. Thank you to my readers once again. And addressing N.Kage's query, I've never read the Assassin Codex before. Wikipedia is a good source.

To Maugen Ra: A big thank-you for your insights, and to an extent, I see the logic behind hard evidences. But from where I stand, the Imperium sees it more as an opportunity to uncover a larger network of cultist and to control the production and price of raw materials. The benefits of subterfuge seem more prevalent under such strenuous circumstances, i.e. economic, political and military consequence in exchange for a seemingly small-timed traitor. Thus I don't believe that the Imperium is simplistic enough to discard such strategic advantage.

Maybe I should further justify the Imperium's sudden concern towards insufficient evidence, which would probably connect to the different tiers of management, as a loophole for the higher authorities to sanction the assassination?

To Spartan Number 277: Thank you for the long review, I am truly glad that my readers appreciate the effort. It really is empowering.

Concerning Valaruz the 18th, as much as I can divulge, it is the codename for every Assassin ever trained. Very much like 007 and the likes…call it…the Valaruz status, rhymes too. :)

Anyway, do continue with your critiques and comments! Cheerios!

* * *

IV – PREPARATIONS

"_Rogues, gangsters or brutes. Nationalist, patriots or loyalist. Drafted, voluntary, or forced. Combat drills, shooting practice or potato peelings. Regardless of the responsibility, backgrounds or reasons, the average Imperial Guard's lifestyle is never too complicating, nor is it too desirable. In fact, the truth and undeclared mantra to their occupation and providence is horrifyingly simple; they are simply living, to be trained for death. The bulk of the Imperial Guards are amassed daily by the millions, consisting of common, well-bodied men and women over the universe, whose thin-threaded courage are then bolstered with flimsy confidence and coercive draconian measures - you fight you live, you surrender you die. _

_The Imperium has far becoming a fallen civilization and a detrimental system, designed to seal the fate of men to a cause of impending failure and destruction. Where the war proclaimed as 'the fight for humanity' has been reduced to a mere reconstruction of slavery; where human lives and the freedom of will are no longer worth even spittle. Commissioned and Non-commissioned Officers lack compassion, their hearts hardened with endless campaigns and obliteration; they need not to think twice before pulling the trigger of lethargy on one of their own to provoke a fearful primal, animalistic survival instinct in others._

_A Guard's life is ever more easily dispensable with the 'Death before Honor' Decree, and when facing enemies as terrible as Chaos and Aliens, most would hardly make it to see the next battle, and the results of their hollow sacrifice._

_Is this truly what the God-Emperor had strived for?"_

_- Sir Kirk Nihilus's Preamble to 'The becoming of the Imperium', _

_Evidence to crimes of Treason and Heresy, Section VI: Patheos Hereticus _

It was the brink of her paranoia during that stormy night.

The natural harmony and silence of the pious temple were marred by the chugging, grotesque symphony of hacking coughs, irritable grunts and clamorous snores 2330 into the night within the creaking wooden structure, its integrity diminutively swayed to a dangerous rhythm in the midst of a howling tempest. A large variety of insects has already begun to take shelter within the shabby walls. Hard crusted crawlers of different natures, shapes and sizes tapped eerily against wood with their hardened legs, their long, ugly feelers hungrily searching for blood.

Kira was torn between annoyance and relief, and could not entirely decide if Koch's well-informed and pragmatic reasoning had it better or for worse. She struggled to invite slumber only to be reminded of the disease she was about to contract. She tossed and turned, fidget and sizing up hysterically in her warm bed.

She had applied a good coat of insect repellent upon her skin; re-breathers strapped across her nose and mouth to circumvent the inhalation of spores and fatal microbes; replaced clean sheets to prevent skin irritants, but yet, her senses could not relax in her frantic struggle to ignore Koch's fatal warnings.

It was ever more a hysterical notion when more paranoid questions flashed through her head.

_How do I fall asleep?_

Koch's visage seemed clearer now, as she admired the advantage, resourcefulness and intelligence he possessed to spot this devious, obscured trap. He was probably elsewhere safe, well rested enough to compete will all his strength tomorrow and planning several steps ahead of everybody. Kira even considered staying close to Koch after a thorough contemplation and admittance to her childish arrogance and stupidity. Maybe she should humble herself, get out of this death trap and search for Koch, stalk and learn a thing or two from him.

She tried a different sleeping position, turning her body sideways facing the exit and irritably considering that option.

_No_, she refused, she refused to stoop to such weaken, shameful resolve.

_The syringe._

She reached for the syringe in her duffle bag, the gift from Koch, a drug claimed as a combatant against mental fatigue. She stared blankly into the weighty metallic syringe, where thoughts of Koch flooded her mind, standing by the wall, undressed, with his striking, confident blue eyes staring unwaveringly into hers.

_Maybe this is the kind of mental fatigue he was expecting, _she second and third-guessed his charity and his motives.

She waited in silence for her weary conscience to accept the offering.

Waiting no longer, she shrugged Koch off her mind and removed the plastic lid, jabbing the large syringe into her forearm and injecting a massive dose of the substance into her bloodstream before she lay down, duly expecting a comfortable sleep. She closed her eyes, partially relieved.

Darkness shrouded before her vision, but the darkness was far from overwhelming. Images and speculation of a distant future came before her, where undoubtedly, new forms of struggle and turmoil would take place to test her mettle and strength; she also saw her merciless past as an Imperial Guard, reminiscing the days where her harsh father would wordlessly oversee a young Kira in her shooting practice. With his unmoving frown, his prideful stature and his hard ways - sparing no leniency in raising the family's only heir as a true blooded Jantine Patrician.

She was a natural soldier – cold, focused and determined, progressing quickly from day 1 of her trainings and rose to the rank of a sergeant at the end of her trainings. She excelled in most areas of her training and specialized in tactical urban warfare. She would have made an excellent Lieutenant of her company but before long, after her initial baptism of fire in the field, she was recalled from an escorting duty in Ishidan VI, and was unknowingly sent to the temple.

The chronology of events from the initiation into the academy until her arrival here at the temple seem to move at a frightening pace, and this was undoubtedly endorsed by her father for his fanatical pride and loyalty to the company's emblem and honor. She then contemplated if the proficiencies and experience honed in her meticulous training and field combat had her equipped enough for this challenge, or rather, are her abilities even remotely comparable to the Vindicare Temple's standards?

_Koch, _she thought the tough competitor that possesses an intellect more superior to hers, she speculated the various possibilities if she had not met Koch in the shower halls, or if she chose to remain cold and ignorant. Would she suffer worse the ill fate of infection? How much would it affect her performance? But why would Koch tell share his secret? What motives lies beneath this blind chance?

She shrugged again, telling herself it was pointless to think any further, tossing again in exhaustion.

1 hour later, however, the anticipated sleep did not come. In fact, she noticed that she was becoming increasingly alert instead; a terrible migraine had her eyes gaped wide open, and her brain engaged deeply in thought and clarity. Her instincts slammed violently the back of her skull, begging its host to rest. Her physical fatigue, mounted to an intolerable level.

It only took her a moment to realize her blunder.

* * *

Koch Desler gave himself a satisfying sardonic smile, asking himself again the rhetorical question - who could resist the temptation of a 'mental fatigue combatant'? His first victory has already been ensured no matter Kira's response, if she took it now, she would fail miserably tomorrow. If she takes it instead in the morning, reciprocity would secure him her allegiance. And if she did not take it at any time, he would still have earned a small measure of trust.

_Stimuli Mateine, _he recalled, the medication given to Kira was a highly concentrated substance used to waken the central nervous system, boosting alertness and the mental flow of its user. It is xanthine alkaliad, a stimulant that acts similarly caffeine and guaranine, which is commonly found it beverage like coffee or tea.

It was 0315, Koch was already up and awake, carefully folding his sleeping bag and storing it in a safe box he acquired from the supplies chamber. He was utterly glad and satisfied with the range of equipment available in the temple – it was much more than the mess facilities in his Imperial Guard regiment, and he spared no embarrassment to acquire as much as he could from the mindless servitor.

He acquired 2 standard issue jumpsuit, a pair of indestructible boots, a convergent watch, a multi-functioning mask, a re-breather and a spray-can of insect repellent. He, also, had a hearty breakfast consist of fruit, protein and fiber, preparing lunch and dinner in advance.

He removed a smaller Stimuli Matiene cartridge from his medical box, obtained from the infirmary, and injected it into his system with the needle gun.

He checked the time - 45 minutes till the day starts.

* * *

Calsus groaned as he looked himself in the mirror in the shower halls; his solid muscular body was covered in red spots and rashes. His once tight, glistening skin reddened and peeling, flooding him with mild itchiness and stinging sensations all over his body, which was a rather painful combination.

Most of the survivors had already awoken in preparation for the day. They also found themselves in a situation similar to Calsus's, for better or worse. Many were already showing clinical symptoms and ailments as predicted by Koch - constipation, giddiness, fever and respiratory problems.

Calsus winced in irritation as he scratched along the line of his neck, carefully observing the strange phenomenon.

Calsus spun his head around as a female shrieked in agony and horror, he jogged towards the shower line where the gathering crowd was. Pushing forward through the mumbling crowd, Calsus saw a flayed piece of skin lying closely away from the pale, shaking victim, her left bicep oozed bloodily from her skinless tendons, flesh and nerves.

The female's skin was flakier than the rest as well as its wrinkled, white-washed and loose like paper, apparently during her shower, she scrubbed too hard and torn a large chunk off her brittle skin. Now she howled terribly in pain, with hot showers watering down her salty tears.

He bit his bottom lip, grimacing and shifting uneasily at the sight. Several others blanched and watched on in horror.

"What are you stupid mints standing around for?" Calsus barked and pushed the idle bystanders aside while stepping forward to turn off the steaming shower head. One of the males scrambled to grab a fresh towel while two female carefully tended the paralytic victim.

"You Jack-diggers had better bugger off if you just gonna' stay and watch!" Calsus turned and yelled at the unmoving crowd, snatching the towel fetched by the meek looking male.

"This is terrible, should we notify the Commissar?" the soft-spoken guy suggested while Calsus swiftly wrapped the towel around the victim and lifting her up to the nearest bench, completely ignoring him.

"Should we notify the Commissar?" he asked again calmly, tagging along behind.

"Look, Pansy, I'm not your whoring mom. You've got brains and balls, right? Do what you damn will," Calsus snapped without even looking.

"It's Heller, and I would appreciate it if you could be more civil about this,"

Calsus turned around and held Heller back with a single hand, "I haven't got time for a 'talk', sweetheart, caddy up your manners but stop bugging me, I've got a morning call to catch up to," Calsus looked him straight in the eye before turning away, continuing his journey to the bench.

"Look," Heller swallowed hard, "Obviously you have the same problem as all of us do; are you just going to walk away from it?"

Calsus did just that, leaving behind mutters and odd glances.

The girl felt lighter than she seemed, her lips were turning blue and her skin as pale and as fragile as a zombie's. She cast her misty eyes on Calsus sheepishly, "Thank you," she said gaspingly, receiving only a hard glance in return, "But I think this is the end of me… and we have all been infected."

Calsus did not reply, merely settling her down on the bench. His powerful palm wrapped behind her neck as he pulled a hard, grim expression, wondering if all of them were all going to suffer the same fate. Whichever way it is, he knew that time is running out and the day was going to start, and the Commissar would not be so compassionate towards the ill.

Time was running out, he had to find a way to secure his own safety.

"Save yourself," she pleaded, "Or one way or another, we're all going to die."

It was then a powerful whistle blasted through the halls.

"Schedule has been moved forward! All soldiers to attention!" a muffled shrieking voice echoed through the halls.

* * *


	6. Chapter 5: Choices

Author's Notes: I had originally intended to include a fighting scene here, as a promise to Gutsu, but the chapter would be too long…IMO. Thus, the fight would take place in the next chapter.

Without further ado, I hope you'll enjoy this chapter as much as my previous ones.

Enjoy!

* * *

The echoes in the massive corridor all belonged to the screams of a respiratory-masked, biohazard-suited Commissar and the trampling of almost two dozens of frightened, panicky soldiers - it was a moment predicted too true as Koch begun tasting the sweet sorrow wrought upon the tormented and ill-prepared soldiers, all with just the blow of a simple whistle. 

The Commissar seemed to share Koch's sentiment, standing just before the entrance to the shower halls, emanating a chokingly cruel aura.

To frequently surprise soldiers with shifting schedules and impromptu activities is not uncommon to the Imperial Guards, but it is, however, a rare occurrence due to the brief training modules provided by most of the larger regiments. The endless raging wars are often a cause for soldiers to be trained the only the basics of basics. To hold a gun, point, shoot and reload, also accompanied by elementary knowledge of combat tactics, communications and mechanics. Physical conditionings too, are minimal due to the Imperial Guard's mass-fire strategies and, of course, the bulk supply in body and numbers.

And what mattered more was to simply heighten the soldiers' fears by enforcing the Death before Dishonor decree, creating a terror of far more effective consequence.

Koch, as ever, leaned back nonchalantly against the walls outside the barracks while watching the soldiers scrambling back into the old, musty barracks. Several sneered resentfully towards Koch, some gave him strange glances, and Koch, all the same, returned the courtesy with an unimpressed smirk, making mental notes of every single on of them.

Kira.

"I'm impressed," Koch greeted as Kira walked by, fully suited, crisp and colder as usual. "How was your evening?"

Kira ignored Koch with a fearsome, if not, tired scowl…marching straight into the barracks.

"And a morning to you too…" Koch smiled unwavering, his eyes trailing the Patrician, when Calsus hurried along the rear, walking by him in nude with red rashes all over his bulky body.

_Not so tough after all, eh? _Koch's smirk grew wider while Calsus made no effort to acknowledge the smug Jopalli.

_A female missing, _Koch summed as he turned and joined the rest in the barracks.

In pairs, it took only seconds for all soldiers present to stand at attention before their respective bunkers, except for Koch, who stayed by the doorway. His eyes squinted in amusement amidst the dusty dog, like a spectator sitting in wait for next act.

Kira could not help but to harbor a deeper hatred and distrust towards the Jopalli, beset by his overconfident, conniving smile, his alarmingly accurate analytical mind, his arrogant flair and the deliberate, destructive half-truth he had told.

_I'll get him back, _she promised herself with a tired, hardened face while struggling to keep her mind fully awake.

Her focus shifted away from Koch immediately after Major-Commissar Jh'nerolaz stormed into the room. Her gust of authority, and the intimidating form of her rubbery, biohazard outfit whipped the soldiers in tense, rigid positions. With an empty holster strapped across her shoulder, a laspistol in her right hand and a cattle-prod in her left, everybody instantly knew that she was on a witch hunt. For the ill-prepared soldiers, they helplessly averted her fearsome gaze.

"I smell fear!" Major-Commissar Jh'nerolaz yelled as soon as she stepped through the doors, her voice muffled through a voice box embedded in her respiratory-mask.

"I smell guilt!" she stopped in her tracks just a few steps away from the door with her index finger lining along the trigger, with eyes scanning down the room like a hawk.

"I smell the guts and brains of stray dogs that have just wandered blindly into a cave of hungry Tyranids!" She began pacing down the barracks, with her hands placed firmly to her side, ready to punish, electrocute and execute. Immediately, she found her first victim lying face down on the bottom bunk, left on the third row. The male soldier had insects crawling across his brittle, leathery, pale skinned body, unconscious at edge of the bed where a large, bloating piece of flayed, bloody skin slid off his arm onto the floor, revealing his raw nerves and flesh.

Still breathing and wheezing, the commissar accelerated his death by pumping 3 violent lasrounds into his back - killing him instantly.

"6,690 assassinations spanned over 48 systems in 1,670 different planets," The Major-Commissar almost whispered as she fixed her eyes on the victim. "Governors, generals, clergies." She paused, "Soldiers, commanders and traitors," She turned towards the rest of the soldiers and lowered her gun.

"Daemons, Aliens and Heretics…" Her shoulder relaxed and started preaching down towards the door. "All entrenched behind indestructible walls, leeching at the spine of Imperium, or linger at the farthest edge of the Universe…

Where the thickest of shields, the artillery of the Guard fails to hammer through, or deep within the lines where the drop-pods of the Astartes could not reach, the delicate service of the Officio Assasinorum are called forth, and therein shall enemies betrothed under the invisible, silver bullet."

"410 days!" she hissed towards the weary soldiers, "410 days, on average, for execution of perfect assassination!"

"Time and location, timing and position," Her fingers counted to four, her eyes widened in a frenzied gaze. "The finest details to a flawless assassination demand nothing less…than perfection."

"The optimum and most scrupulous of preparation is begged to a point where the silver bullet does more than to just put the target down!" she bared her teeth behind her mask ferociously, almost lost to the fanatical devotion to the magnificence of their duty, "Where the destruction of the target quavers the foundation if his army and influence, clattering into collapse under the confusion and chaos of a power vortex." She whispered intensely.

"Where he, the enemy, perishes, the eyes are blinded for even a moment…and to awake to the sight of the Imperium's banner, fluttering amiable in their bays of defeat." Her voice trailing into calmness…

"410 days to the splendor of our duty," her voice and muscles tensed once more, swelling with anger and frustration. "410 days of meticulous preparation…" she turned and looked at everyone in disgust.

"410 days of studies, surveillance, simulation and endless briefings…" she shook her head in belittlement, "410 days – the measure of our dedication to our Holy Mission."

"410 days and none of you would even spend an extra 1 hour of your bloody sleep time to outfit yourselves." The sentence ended a howling bitterness - dangerous and chillingly violent. Koch gave a self-satisfying smile, everything was turning out as predicted .

But the Major-Commissar, suddenly, turned her head towards Koch and raised her laspistol in his direction…along with everybody else's attention.

The pistol whined to charge itself for 1 full seconds, sending Koch weak in his knees, before she released it with a terrifyingly loud bang.

Calsus eyes narrowed in disbelief.

Kira was slightly amused.

Koch… was, however, unharmed, he slowly opened one of his eyes to see everybody, except Kira, staring at something, or someone else at the door.

Koch turned his head around and saw a fully suited, infected female sprawled on the floor, clutching at her abdomen and not quite dead yet.

Kira could only chuckle at Koch's momentary confusion.

Calsus on the other hand, stared straight into the courage of Loa, Loa was her name…it still is, not while she's dead.

* * *

"_Would you be able to make it?" Calsus asked the gravely infected female victim within the chaotic shower halls. Everyone else discontinued their activities, or the concern for their condition, and wrestled to the Commissar's command. _

"_It's not too bad…I'll try," she nodded while she struggle to stand up,her hand clutched to her injured arm, "…and call me Loa," she smiled slightly, her eyes already drying from tears of shock._

_Calsus returned a smile of encouragement, somehow enchanted by the woman's strong and free spirit._

_It brought him back certain memories… _

"_Very well then," Calsus nodded, "I'll see you at the barracks." Calsus got up and sped off, taking a look

* * *

_

The Commissar walked menacingly towards the dying lass, with every intention to put her out of her misery.

Calsus breathed harder and faster, he wanted to intervene… to plea the Commissar to spare her life as guilt hung him over like a dead rat, he could not help but feel responsible for encouraging and leaving Loa alone to return to the barracks.

But it was the Commissar who bears the gun, and Calsus knows better that to defy their kind.

Calsus took a deep breath to think it through rationally, and failed to conjure up any valid reasons for clemency, he was already in a binding position, and so was Loa in her extreme condition… And as much as he hated to admit it, but ending her life was probably the only option.

BANG!

"That…" The Commissar spat, turning away from Loa towards the shaken soldiers. "…is the consequence of ill-preparation,"

"You…" The Commissar growled, pointing her pistol towards Kira, "And you…" moving in a level arch towards Koch.

The Commissar looked at them grimly, "Pick one…" she turned and motioned the rest of soldiers, then returning her gaze towards Kira.

Koch quickly began analyzing her intentions, while Kira froze dead in her spot.

_What does she want? _She trembled, her eyes shifted around in slight confusion with jaws tightened to control her nervousness, naturally, she guessed she was picking someone for execution…but she could not be sure.

"M…may I ask what for, Major…?" she spurted.

Bad decision.

Her question clearly provoked the Commissar as she immediately stepped forward and jabbed the cattle-prod into Kira's waist, sending short, vicious waves of crackling sparks until she fell onto her knees. The Commissar stopped the punishment and moved forward to whisper mockingly into her ears, "It seems you weren't paying attention yestereve…I'm disappointed, 'Sergeant' Symmachus."

Koch watched on, perplexed, but still managed to hold his thoughts together.

_Kira made a mistake by not calling her full name - Major-Commissar Jh'nerolaz…and didn't abide to the rule of 'no questions allowed'. _He surmised. _I have to be more careful from now on._

"I'll pick, Major-Commissar Jh'nerolaz," Koch spoke up with confidence, drawing her attention away from a sweating Kira.

Koch swore he could see a smile from that nod of hers.

And Koch saw where this is leading to; this act is but another test for those who, seemingly, looked prepared. The Commissar is now gauging and measuring how well these individuals can handle pressures and the unknown.

Koch would test the second part of his theory.

He scanned the room and immediately picked out a robed soldier. Although not as well prepared as Koch, he was relatively clean and ready, with minimal signs and symptoms of diseases on his body.

The Commissar, without hesitation, called forth the shaking soldier – his footsteps heavy and reluctant. Bringing himself before the Commissar, he stood at attention… and it seemed like a lifetime when the barrel was lined to his temple, charged, and fired without remorse.

His body dropped lifelessly.

Everyone fell silent…breathing heavily and shaking profusely.

The Commissar turned and look at Koch, her next words horrified all…except for Koch, who showed indifference the words slithered out of voice box saying… "Pick another…"

Koch smiled in his head – he was more than happy to.


	7. Chapter 6: Torture

Author's Notes: Heh, as usual, the new chapter's release is untimely, I guess that's the speed of my writings these days. Thank you for your patience.

Anyway, 'Demon's' error noted, thanks Lord Titan and again - to my loyal readers' support and reviews.

Please, do continue reading! And yet again - critique and comment where necessary, it helps my writing. Thanks and enjoy!

* * *

**VI - TORTURE  
**

"_Founded are regrets, from crucibles of despair and tragedy; for words cannot be reclaimed, and actions cannot be undone. _

_One chance, no mistake… perfection upon contemplation." _

_- Valaruz 18th, Vindicare Assassin_

* * *

The current diminutive body count would put the Commissar to shame in comparison to the massacre of thousands since centuries past – numbers needed to rise. 

"Pick another…" Major-Commissar Jh'nerolaz commanded, granting Koch the opportunity to place a death sentence in her stead.

And with Koch's first call, the soldiers instantly realized that bodies will continue to pile in more ways than they could imagine. Worst was, they could do nothing but to cling onto blind chance and the Emperor's mercy. For several more hopeful individuals, they tried pleading by means of making eye contact, shifting their body movements, or simply looking down, hoping to escape Koch's judgment.

_A windfall,_ was how Koch described the turnout of this sadistic mind game.

Kira's sleep deprivation had proven to be more than prolific than he had expected – his reward doubled and his perceived competition thinning. He was already well ahead of the game with his well thought-out, manipulative measures.

… _why stop now? _He wandered and saw no reasons to halt his vicious game.

_19 soldiers left, _Koch excluded himself from the count while eagerly picking out possible targets. He suppose that he could pick Kira as well, but since she had ill-demonstrated her abilities to the Commissar, she was neither in any way perceived to be anymore competent nor was she fit to compete for the day.

That Calsus fellow did not look too bright either, although he seemed unnaturally calm and fearless yet slightly detached and poignant.

He continued studying several others he made mental note of, and recognized the fear excreting from several that taunted him the previous night. He personally did not care for their goading, but seeing them flinch gave him a measure of satisfaction…and leverage. Then there was Calsus' bunk partner, one that particularly made a rather boorish, pompous remark – crooked long nose, sharp features with tanned, brown complexion. He guessed his origins from Desert planets like Tallarn, where people are raised from the harsh, inhospitable dunes and scorching weather.

Koch was however, drawn to his conceited, uncouth personality, which usually coincides for an unpopular, egoistical character ridden with inferior-complexities. But given how he had made it to the current selective stage, he should be equally adept and competitive in whatever skills he might possess.

Koch's analysis could have been premature, but he felt that he had the right amount of 'qualities' to be persuaded into an uncanny alliance - an outspoken character was what Koch needed to alleviate Koch's amounting unpopularity. The game was the promise to satisfy the conceited bastard's inadequacy, along with the provision of intelligent council on Koch's part

Koch locked his gaze toward the brown-skinned man and smiled cynically, reminding him that the insult from last night did not go unnoticed. It was, as expected, replied with heavier, faster breathing with a tinge of regret and hate.

The brown man's panic nerve throbbed harder with every second passed, meeting Koch's eyes every now and then in search for a change of heart.

It was then, when Koch slowly raised his judgmental finger into his direction. His blank gaze resonated with playful vengeance.

He held his breath.

His index finger pointed his bunk partner - Calsus, the Alpha male of a pack usually draws people to his side and into an alliance... Koch could not risk that.

Calsus frowned irritably while his jaws and muscles tightened, snapping out of his dreamy state.

The Commissar, with her stout, solid pose, ordered Calsus to stand before her. But Calsus remained steadfast, unmoving – his survival instinct kicking in.

The Commissar flinched. "Stand before me, soldier!" she yelled, shaking her pistol in momentous rage.

Calsus drew a deep breath, and glanced towards Koch with a bile gathering up his throat…

* * *

Calsus was born and raised in the Hive city of Praetoria, a society with a population so vast, accompanied with a crime rate, arguably, of an equal scale. The choking city stacked with people above people, with an economic rate that could barely keep up with the population growth. 

Underground gangsters, mafias and brutes sprouts like wildfire across the violent street, plaguing the system with never-ending feuds, vices, smuggling and murders that works its way to balance the insufficiencies of the 'white' economy.

Calsus was born into poverty, brought up and steeled within the violent streets, honing survival skills from the multitude of dangers lurked in filthiest corners of the sprawling urban forest. Of the Arbites (interplanetary police of the Imperium), gang rivals and the violent cycle of the jungle's law, Calsus, armed with street smarts and an outstandingly tough spine, countered and survived all while emerging on the top as a deadly fighting machine.

Alas, Calsus, too, had gone through hell much more fearsome, and his crimes – paid in the blood of his closest brethrens.

The bleak morning erupted with the screams of small rival gangs, clashing with crude, rusty weaponry on the open fields in a territorial feud with Calsus leading his own roving band into a typical bloody gang war. But before the massacre could even begin, Rhinos and Chimeras appeared from all sides with smoke bombs and tear gases deployed to subdue to violent crowd.

In was the drafting season, and the Imperium launched a massive recruitment drive across the Empire.

Almost 90 percent of the gang was round up like animals that fateful day – stripped to the bottom, whip-lashed, and tortured into submission of the Guard; and for every count of disobedience, 1 gang a member was killed as a warning, amounting to a sacrifice of 23,000 lives.

Calsus had been through hell, and he sure as damn well won't be killed so easily with just the raise of a finger.

* * *

Then there was, it was either him, or those that oppose him. There are no shit hole for anyone to hide in. 

Calsus stood before the Commissar.

"Defiant…" she growled, "I wonder what it is they teach you dogs in Praetoria…"

Calsus never flinch; he just looked on with a hardened gaze.

She pressed her pistol into his temple; where he barely broke a sweat, when…

"Permission to speak, Major-Commissar Jh'nerolaz!" Calsus finally spoke up.

The Commissar halted, with the pistol's barrel staring right between Calsus' eyes. The room reeked of suspense while Koch's shuddered in a slight shock, paying full attention to what Calsus was about to say.

"Hmm…last words?" the Commissar, slightly amused, studied Calsus and pondered for a moment, "Fine, but know I've little interest other than you begging for you life," she gripped her sidearm firmer, she would not want to be caught off-guard by the rabid dogs of Praetoria.

"You must realize, Major-Commissar Jh'nerolaz," Calsus said exuberantly, "… that killing me would be a mistake."

"Do I detect a threat, Corporal de Marche?" The Commissar jeered derisively, her finger clutched the trigger dangerously.

"Depends," he said nonchalantly, "...but look around you Major-Commissar Jh'nerolaz," Calsus looked her in the eye, or where it was supposed to be. "More than half of what you have here would not even dare to look up, with their balls rattling like snakes."

"Apparently, you fail to understand... all I need is one…" she smiled cynically behind her mask, her palm wrapped around the weapon again, "…times up Corporal."

"Wait...wait," Calsus looked more serious now, picking his words carefully, "I know you've read our backgrounds and profiles, and you have a slight idea of your ideal candidates. This is some kind of test isn't it? And now I'm doing what I think you want, by being upfront and assuring you that I have the nerve and strength than all of the people here combined...

...my words are now empty," he said, "…but at least give me a more thorough test before making up your mind."

The Commissar sneered amusingly, looking straight into his unwavering eye with a wicked smile carved behind her lips. "Very well…" she relaxed her grip on her gun before lowering her sidearm. "Pick four…"

Koch sighed.

* * *

The next phase, agreed by most of the administrators of the temple, was one of the more horrific test recruits would face, and the Commissar decided that was the best time for Calsus to prove his words. 

Other than that, she simply loved seeing the horror on the soldier's faces.

She pushed the day's schedule aside and made way for the evaluation session, contacting and orchestrating the various units of the temple to stage the event. The temple, in its usual serenity and stillness suddenly erupted with the heavy traffic of servitors, clergies and orderlies, rushing from one end of temple to another with the abhorrent task at hand.

Fervent prayers and rituals were conducted, with orderlies got on their knee and groveled like slaves. The temple guards flooded the armory, equipping themselves with weapons, armors and ammunitions. Tech-Priests made adjustments to land speeders before they whirred into life for their duty to secure the temple's perimeter.

"To what anomaly these individuals owe," the graying Priest stood on at the entrance of the hall amidst the chaos, observing the busy recruits that was granted 15 minutes to prepare the best they can, "…for the test comes so untimely?"

"I felt it was conveniently… fitting for this group," The Commissar said reassuringly, "…moreover, I don't think I need to remind you that the Grandmaster's Chevalier accepts no results in its inferiority, and nor does he seem to have the luxury of patience of late."

"Harsher sifting for this project is all the more necessary, when our time, is in fact, stretched to a breaking point." The Commissar looked on ahead. "We need to move on ahead as fast as we could, should this group fails us…again."

High-Priest Horatius paused and mused thoughtfully, _No Major…you needn't remind me at all_.

* * *

The soldiers were feeling as agitated as ever, for granted, was the charity to finish up their morning task without any further punishments or executions. It was very much like a prisoner's last meal – they were marching towards a certain death. 

Several more pessimistic individuals placed their blame at Calsus.

And marched they were, through several a series of darkly lit corridors, subsequently down a narrow, spiraling stairwell to the lower, darker depths of the surprisingly massive, Gothic designed temple.

Strange echoes gurgled from the depths.

Through the back of the antechamber, the magnificently carved and ornate high ceilings were slowly stripped down to bare, moldy stone walls; where the air became even more arid and humid, with exposed ventilation shafts, pressure pipes and electrical wires running to the side of the tunnel-like passage. And the narrow stairwell, could no less provoke a fearful claustrophobic feeling.

They threaded even more carefully as usual, especially for Koch, who was pushed, almost deliberately, to the middle of the straight lined column.

"I can already hear the breaking of your spine," Calsus whispered menacingly into Koch's ears from the rear, his powerful palm clutched the back of Koch's neck, "Fear always have its way of getting back at its aggressors, aye, pretty boy?" adding some pressure to his murderous grip.

Koch smirked, turning his head, unfazed, "My apologies, I didn't realize I've frightened you."

Calsus clenched his jaws in slight anger and released his grip forcefully, causing Koch to stumble forward slightly, "We'll see about that, pretty boy."

Koch dismissed Calsus almost immediately, shifting his attention to the Brown-skinned man that was slightly ahead of himself, and Kira, who seemed to have regained her bearings and vigor from the punishment.

With a deep sigh, Koch realized that his manipulative schemes was not going to get things this time; while Calsus seemed to have opened a Pandora's Box that causes the sudden elevation of activities and security. He was not sure what they were facing this time, but he knew it was going to be something twisted beyond all imaginations. In any case, he underestimated Calsus, and he would not repeat that mistake again.

Kira, on the other hand, had an idea of the woes that they were going to face. Not many of the common folks would know, but the prayers conducted were carried out in High Gothic – a language taught and used only by the higher echelons and of the more educated of a society; it was recommended, and later made mandatory by the Ecclesiarch, to most clergies as to praise the Emperor in landed gentry.

Among the words that she recognized were 'diabolus', 'patrocinor', and 'misericordia', which was 'devil', or 'Satan' in ancient folklore, 'protect', and 'mercy' in Low Gothic , respectively.

The unthinkable was not far from the truth when they were suddenly stopped in glowing red, room - their destination obstructed with a heavy, rusted vault door that was scribed with illegible runes and branded with a familiar insignia of a skull. A faint, perverse horror clawed desperately behind the door, or so Kira felt.

The messy, cluttered room was guarded by three fully armed Kasrkin, a servitor, and an old, feeble psyker – his body pierced and linked with wires and cables to an open, angular sarcophagus set into a wall, behind bars amidst a huge range of instruments and ancient consoles.

The Kasrkin stood like statues, with their stoic, lifeless expressions numb to everything that was happening. The servitor milled about in its duties, while the grotesque psyker emanated with madness with his long, scarred face twitched like a broken machinery, he rambled softly while his body jerked occasionally, strapped and chained to his grisly prison of a machine.

"Make it quick," the Commissar ordered with an irritated tone, causing the psyker to twitch and tremble even more violently, draining the power from the room as the lights began to wither and die, pulsating and replacing the dank room with an unnatural purplish energy. Many of the recruits who were not familiar with psychic probes reacted fearfully to the malign invasion of their minds, cowering away with pain when it began to prick like a million needles within their bodies.

It lasted only several seconds before the room returned its red lights and back to its gloomy, baleful state.

"Everything is in order," one of the Kasrkin motioned the group; remotely unlocking and swinging the door wide open…where the first of many horrible noises reached Kira's ears.

Isolated screams, gurgles and boiling, led by the eerie, mechanized sounds of drills and saws echoed repeatedly throughout the wet halls; with its coarse and watery stone floor indicated repeated rinsing and washing.

The smell was revolting - mixed with a familiar smell of cooked human meat, blood and the sodden stink of bowels and intestines.

Several from the group tried holding back, but end up throwing up to the grisly environment.

A wiry, goggled 'surgeon', cloaked with a transparent plastic, waterproof apron with a green underlay shirt, dismissed the group entirely to attend his duties; his outfit stuck with pieces of raw meat and smeared with fresh blood. With a cruel looking scalpel in his gloved hand, he walked towards one of the chambers and slammed the door shut after him, before a series of drowning screams erupted.

"Draw the blinds," the Commissar ordered the Master of the Tortures, who seemed too wizened and numb to resist any sort of orders.

The horror surfaced as the soldiers were wedged in the aisle of between the torture chambers, revealing 'surgeons' with all forms of apparatus, inflicting pain of varying degrees to their subjects – they were lesser of humans … carved and deformed by blades, boiling oil, saws and drill.

Confusion splintered the recruits, baffled and nerve-wrecked with a front-row seat of a sadistic overture. Wielding a chainsaw, the 'surgeon' took his time to cleave into his living, screaming subject, the whirring jaws rend veins and muscle tissue right down his chest, spewing flesh and blood across the tormentor.

Another was dipped, from waist down; slowly into a large pot of boiling oil while the subject helplessly wail in terror. Another more crafty 'surgeon' managed to remove his subject's heart from the mouth, still attached to the other organs...and beating.

Fear took a hold of the recruits with feet ready to flee, with a possible suggestion that they, themselves, would subject to inhumane tortures.

Even Calsus, who has faced his share of malice, could barely stomach the hellish agony.

Koch looked away repulsively, before he calmly collected his thoughts and resumed his analysis of the situation. He looked past the 'surgeons' primal, but creative torture methods, and tried identifying the commonalities the subject shared. It would be too bloody to notice, but upon their head, carved a despicable pattern – the eight pointed insignia, the Mark of Chaos...

...Kira had somehow considered the encounter of daemons or their kin, but unlike anything she had predicted. Nonetheless, she was guessing that they were to either wield the devices of torture or merely be basked in the mist of gore and violence until all emotions deaden…

…_too early, _Koch thought it impossible, as that phase would only come when they were initiated as a recruit Vindicare Assassin, he guessed. They would neither be placed as a spectator, nor would they be in an authoritative position... somehow, all events that follow will endeavor to reduce the soldiers' number.

"Pick a weapon you lot…" the Commissar drew the attentions of the wobbly soldiers, when the blinds to the chambers shut and fluorescent lights lit up to focus what beholds, towards the end of the large hall.

Five cages stood maliciously before them, its metal gates inviting combatants to its maw of death.

* * *


	8. Interlude II: 12 Days

Author's Note: Good news, 1) I've finished my last semester in uni. 2) Interlude's back up.

I know it has been awhile, no excuses really…just couldn't find the time amidst the load of assignments (it's a excuse now, isn't it? Cowers in shame). Now that I've returned, I've got some fresh ideas and energy to complete the story the way I want.

Anyway, I'll cut the rumbling and straight to the story. Enjoy people!

* * *

Interlude II – 12 days

Unlike any of the dismal worlds throughout the Imperium, Leoux VI is in fact, a paradise few would ever live to see. With closely cluttered chain of islands beneath the recently terraformed planet's equator, its seductive, green paved forest breathed an extraordinary life many seem to have already forgotten. A total of 47 species of domestic and exotic mammals, 37 aquatic vertebrates and 213 avian creatures were drawn and imported from other similar worlds to sustain the ecology.

Never in this devastated universe, however, could paradise be ever found without costs. In fiscal terms, the proprietors of mega-conglomerates, economic elites, aristocrats and politicians of clout and influence had invested large enough resources equivalent to the basic sustenance for billions, in an ambitious project to explore and terraform a planet to green, beauty and sustainability for those could afford escaping societies of impending societal devastation. Through a loophole in a recent property deregulation in select systems, any planet founded beyond the controlled area would be entirely owned by this niche of elites. With that small measure of independent governance, the aristocrats immediately seize this opportunity , seeking to customize a suitable planet into a blushing paradise, it would be an economy built for the privileged and a safe sanctuary designed for their pedigree offspring.

A relatively small planet was founded approximately fifteen light years beyond the most secure of Imperium galactic borders, off a main trade route between two heavily populated systems. Nestling between two isolated giant diffuse nebulas, the untouched planet was assessed to be safe from inciting any imminent assaults from the forces of Chaos or Dark Eldar raids. Granted that it was a safe zone however, a private expedition as such is not without the support of the Imperium and the inevitable presence of their military strength. A long-drawn proposal, thus, had been submitted to the Imperium in request for an exclusive edict, requesting a military presence in the expedition.

Naturally, the decision took awhile for an agreeable consensus, where the more conservative, hardened Generals despise the thought of 'lending' the Imperium's sacred powers to the hedonistic whims of greedy capitalists and spoiled aristocrats.Thus they have restructured the agreement to grant the Imperium a good measure of land and two orbital satellites, tempting them to exploring a sector of the uncharted system. The edict was surprisingly announced with immediate effect – the 507's and 807's Cadian regiments would secure and defend the expedition and establish command according to the drawn agreement, on whichever planet of choosing.

And the elites could not have made a wiser decision.

24 months after the first ships arrived at Leoux VI, a splintered Chaos Legion's fleet, which escaped an Eldar skirmish, was unexpectedly warped to a nearby system. Beset by their embarrassing defeat and the disconnection to their Lord, an angry Champion assumed command of a formidable sized army and threw themselves against Imperial Navy's flimsy orbital defense.

Within 46 hours, the Chaos Legion broke through and destroyed most of the Imperial Navy's barricade and assaulted the 807's Cadian base. Another 50 hours later, the 507 sent a distress signal before the Traitor Astartes could completely take over the orbit and cease all communications from ground.

After an additional 61 hours, the Imperium dispatched a one-manned, infiltrator-class ship to navigate around the heavy tide of Chaos fleets, re-establishing link with the grounded Imperial Guard.

* * *

_6 days later, Leoux VI_

The threshold of the average human hearing is between 13 to 20 kilohertz - the ruffling of leaves, the dense metallic clacking of an engaged heavy bolter, the screams of agonizing prisoners and the sick gurgling of dying captives; Valaruz 18th, positioned quietly 1.2 miles away in the mountainous terrain, was picking up live chatter from the defeated 807's headquarters, relayed though several hidden transmitters planted by the chief Enginseer before a complete overrun.

With torso laying flat to the earth, the assassin focused at the designated target, eyes never left the scope as it lined eastward towards the rotting training yard. Activities have escalated within the last three days as the Legion grew weary and impatient; it has been six days since the Legion had successfully taken over the narrow south vale, entrenching the main access route and slaughtering every 507's advance.

The former Marines were ruthless as they were cunning, as displayed by their tactics and from testimonies of several 807's higher-ranking survivors. Their siege on the 807 was near flawless, and with the capture of the General and the swift annihilation of 57 per cent of the force, the remnants were convinced to surrender. The invader's fighting capacity even tripled with the assistance of the 807's reconnaissance units, soldiers and armor.

The victory was nearly complete, and the Champion was feeling the full effects of elation and pride - commending himself for his solid tactics. By the blocking off all outward communications and the prolonged wait for Imperial reinforcements, he had ample reasons to believe that Leoux VI was left to fend itself. His orders was to hold out in the mountainous range until the 507 was desperate enough to launch a full-scale assault through the frighteningly narrow vale; when that happens, the captured Basilisks would rain down their terror and destruction.

The sun was almost setting, painting the sky in a hue of sickly red. The foul marines were now at the peak of their frenzy, chanting sacrilegiously to their manic gods as they stood around an arena piled from bodies of Imperial Guards. The captured 807 General, with brutal flagellant wounds all over his body, was pushed to the middle to meet the towering, demented Champion. The champion, equally, have battle scars, with skin as grey as ash and laughter as terrifying as the Daemon itself.

"It has been fun, hasn't it General Swath?" his voice deep and hollow as he began cracking up in lunacy.

The General steeled himself and refused to answer.

For 9 days, the general endured the worst imaginable physical and mental torture, he watched and heard as his men was impaled, sawed and bludgeoned to death. The average soldier would have taken his own life, but General Swath somehow placed hope that the 507 or the Adeptus Astartes would move in and eradicate this blight.

He would die, but at least he wanted to see that sadistic smile wiped off the Champion's face.

_Why not now? _The General unwaveringly lunged forward to strike the abomination. But the Champion caught his punch easily and with a bend, broke General Swath's wrist like a twig.

"AAAAAAARRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG!" Valaruz 18th, faraway, witnessed and picked up every decibel of the General's cry. The scope had the target in sight, and the bullet is ready to punch through the Champion's skull, what waits was just the order to pull the trigger.

"Valaruz 18th, come in Valaruz 18th," a crackling voice whispered through the assassin's com-link.

"This is Valaruz 18th," the sharpshooter replied while constantly making minute adjustments to the Exitus.

"Report your status, Valaruz 18th," the 507 operations team requested.

"I'm in position and the target is in my sight," Valaruz 10th replied.

"Roger that, Valaruz 18th. Be aware that the remaining elements of Operation Red-Herring are almost in position, standby for further orders. Operations out," the 507 signed off.

Down in the Legion's base, the Champion continued toying and mangling his captive to a certain death. Like a tightly coiled spring, the Champion's feet sprung forward and smashed into the General's right knee cap, completely breaking it backwards. The General's scream was hardly audible anymore as it sunk into the tide of daemonic howls. His eyes lost all glimmer of hope as his vision started to fade.

The Champion moved forward and grabbed the General by the hair, delivering a controlled backhand across the left cheek to prevent him from losing consciousness entirely.

"Where has the fighting spirit gone now?" Every word of the Champion ebbed with terror as he wrapped the General's head with his scaly palms, "Where are your allies now?" With an ever demented grin, he gradually applied pressure to crush the General's skull. Veins began to surface and his complexion flushed with redness.

"Valaruz 18th, come in," the 507 operations called in again.

"This is Valaruz 18th," the assassin replied routinely.

"Report the target's status, Valaruz 18th," the voice on the other end had more urgency now.

"Target is in sight and is ready to be taken down," Through the com-link and the scope, a tiny cracking sound was lashed, and the General's eyeballs seem to be squeezing out of their sockets.

"Roger that, all elements are in place Valaruz 18th. You have the green light to take down the target, I repeat, you have the green light to take down the target. Fire at will and Emperor be with you," operations finally gave the order.

"Got it," the assassin took a deep breath and pulled the trigger without hesitation, the Exitus' explosive blast rang throughout the forest with its bullet whizzed at 2230 meters per second. With the General still in grasp, the bullet punched though the Champion's head like a jackhammer. Red, stocky blood and flesh splattered all across the yard, and the Champion's dense body dropped lifelessly to the ground.

"SNIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIPERRR!" A Chaos Marine yelled as he pointed North where a cloud of birds burst out of the dense canopy. "Bring the Basilisks around! Incinerate that bleeding sniper!"

It was then the bloodthirsty mob dispersed, Raptors taking up arms and equipping their jetpacks in their killing urge to hunt down and torture the assassin. They flared with excitement and madness, quickly formulating an ad-hoc search and destroy operation.

When the Basilisks were finally brought around, and the striking distance computed, the barrels automatically adjust themselves and blasted rounds after rounds of deadly shells, bombarding the area until trees in that area were completely flattened and obliterated.

Amidst the pandemonium, the Vindicare Assassin however, was unharmed and remained in position long enough to the west, providing reconnaissance for the 507. The current northern position that was being bombarded was, instead, inhabited by VID emitter. When the Exitus was fired, the emitter did its duty to generate a single wave of a synthesized loud bang. In turn, the scampered avian creatures worked well to give away the assassin's fake position. On the other hand, a second VID emitter lies close to the assassin's vantage point. For three days it was generating a constant, screeching ultrasonic wave that reaches over 300 kilohertz, audible only to birds and beasts. Its purpose was to irritate and vacate the creatures from the assassin's vicinity, so that the shot would not create any unnecessary attention. Like clockwork, the Basilisks were hitting nothing but the VID emitter.

With the forces of Chaos leaderless, and the Basilisks' fire redirected, the amassing army of Sentinels, Chimeras and Leman Rusks was ready to lay a deadly siege through the perilous valley. Meanwhile beyond the outer reaches, the Imperial Navy Battleships and the White Scars' Lighting's Hammer emerged from the giant Nebulas, with fighters scuttling to annihilate the Chaos ships, and to create a space for a Space Marines' drop.

The Vindicare Assassin has accomplished the mission, and moved to clear the vantage point before slipping away silently.

"Help me…" the General's crackling voice was still audible through the relay, pleading for any immediate assistance as the background were scattered with mad snarls and vicious curses, closing in onto the arena's transmitter where the General was lying.

The Assassin briefly looked back towards the former 807's base, before turning back and switching off the com-link.

The mission was completed, afterall.


	9. Chapter 7: Evil

Author's Notes: Nothing much to comment on, except check out the reworked Interlude. Sorry folks for taking such a long time…there are times even avid fans need to take a break :P

* * *

**VII - Evil**

"_Define evil"_

_- Testimony of Garrius LeMars, Heresy Trial. _

Its eyelids were horrendously sewn to the brow, slouching as it revealed its pale pupils and remorseful eyes. Its unclasped hands desperately reached for the boils and cuts all over its yellowish skin, attempting to soothe the torture wounds. Twitching and gurgling continually in intolerable pain, its saliva spewed and leaked out of its widely gapped bestial teeth ,its cries echoed hollow in the narrow, rusted metal room.

To Kira, the half-possessed cultist was adequately a portrayal of everything vile about heresy, the things that all men were brought up to fear and hate.

From its starved, naked and scraggy body to its visceral stench of corruption, it was Kira's first and closest encounter with such a horrific existence, a kin of Chaos… the betrayer of humanity. Their sins, obvious to plain sight, have been paid for their treachery, the denouncement of their humanity have earned themselves a lifetime of suffering, by conscience or torture.

Although Kira has never been in combat with agents of Chaos, she was neither shocked nor frightened by the cultist's presence, for the torture chambers foreshadowed this confrontation. More so when Calsus, Koch and three male survivors were the first batch to be marched into the elevated sealed cages, not allowing the rest to witness what transpire within the sinister enclosure. With the doors shut, only the muffled screams and screeches gave hints.

The cage was soaked in blood, and the fate of the previous victor unknown. But yet she vigilantly stood before the fragile Cultist, waiting to experience the 'Chaos aggression' while pointing her laspistol towards the Great Enemy. She was not sure how this creature would fight, but between a fragile, heavily tortured creature and a laspistol, she believed this would be an easy victory.

Bang! A powerful lasround fired as Kira pulled the trigger, creating a wound as large as a coin to the Cultist's left thigh, causing it to screech with agony.

"Get up, heretic," Kira spat, "Let me witness your…Chaos debauchery so I can end your life more agreeably."

The cultist began to chuckle lightly; its lidless eyes stared with amazement, "Kill me?" It hissed as it began to crawl forward, "My dear, all that is accomplished would be my favorable boon -to return my soul to the Warp cycle from this, hell…" it laughed slightly.

If it satisfies you, I would beg the next round to be placed here," it languidly tapped the top of its head with his long, skeletal hands, giving her also a derisive grin.

Bang! Another shot went through its shoulder blade and throwing it back, it made no effort to suppress a horrendous howl. Shortly, however, it began to gurgle in ironic delight and madness.

"You are all alike…" it began to crack up, "…holding us in contempt under the shroud of ignorance…" It slowly wind himself forward, glaring morbidly at Kira. "Even with so much hate, I don't suppose you truly comprehend the Chaos clout…do you?"

Kira remained silent.

"I thought as much…" it sighed, then resigned into a quiet chuckle.

"Chaos is orderless and primitive, as it poisons the mind and dehumanizes our existence…" Kira spat, "…it lures the weak with promises of carnal desires and contemptible emotions. There's all there to it, and those that strays are inferior and they've never once belonged to the Imperium.

You are one of such, a weakling... one of those people who could never find a place in a society of Divine Order." Kira smiled cruelly.

"HAHAHAHA!" It burst into a long laughter and mocking claps, "A dogmatically superficial answer! Bravo! I suppose you're offspring of nobility as well? Fed with a silver spoon and corrupt bureaucratic drivel?" It roused and became more engaged as Kira's smile faded.

"My ignorant friend, despite my appearance, I should remind you that I was once a lesser being like you, a mind constricted by doctrinaires and false ideologies." Its hands moved to rub against its wounds, "Maybe lesser, as I, a scholar was reduced to preach such… delusions to the Children of the Imperium.

Emperor is God, His Word is Gold, and His Hand reaches All," it recited fluently, "All the same, he slumbers in his casket, while corrupt lord and generals assume his powers and continue to…"

Bang! Another powerful lasround tore through the Cultist's left tricep, sending flesh, veins and blood all over the ground that followed with the howl of agony

"Continue…" Kira ordered while reloading her laspistol stoically.

The cultist was not laughing anymore but hissed and groaned painfully, leaving a trail of blood as it scrambled to a corner. It was wrecked with confusion, trying to figure out her intentions and motives.

"What do you want from me? Why won't you just kill me?!" The cultist yelled as its eyes began to moist, clutching its wounds.

"I've requested for a Chaotic show of debauchery, heretic," Kira expressed grimly, "Thus far, I haven't seen much that satisfies me yet. So PLEASE…continue…"

It broke into a grin, then into a frown, slowly collecting its thoughts. It was not sure where to start, or how this would end, but he thought perhaps she would be interested to know its story. It smiled again, "If you were looking forward to a ferocious battle, which I think is the intentions of my kind captors, then you would be throughly disappointed to be matched with a lowly worshipper of Tzeentch."

Kira barely responded, casting the same gaze with her finger resting on the trigger. The cultist lost its smile and sighed, coughing sickly. "Very well, I'll humor you then…" It landed itself on the floor and sat upright, clutching its wounds and breathed slowly, "Perhaps you would like you listen the tale of my becoming?"

Kira again, did not respond, just a grim, stoic expression.

"When I was just a mortal," choosing his words carefully, "At a ripe age, my particular skill sets of rhetoric and scholastic education earned me an appointment as an orator…" It stopped again to study Kira, then continued, "…a preacher for the Ecclesiarch. I was immediately tasked to maintain the faith in societies, at times, convincing the masses to join the Guard. My voice reached throughout systems and hundreds of worlds, and like puppets, they followed…and the Imperium couldn't be anymore pleased.

Rewarded I was, with riches, lands and even greater tasks and responsibilities." It smiled, beaming slightly with pride, gathering confidence as it proceeded "As I traveled, however, my duties became more challenging, and the discussions escalated to far more intellectual intensity, with questions of greater degree of complexity - what is the Imperium doing about the poor? Why are there so many deaths? When will the wars stop? Why has the Imperium's growth stunted? A historian I've become, a political analyst, an obsessive individual in search for unanswered queries…

Where do I find answers to such queries?" It laughed to itself, "Within Libraries? The Ecclesiarch? Hah! They give nothing but propaganda. Words, empty promises, and letters that sway from the truth…words that provides nothing in return for blind faith." Kira was listening closely.

"The people were mislead…" It frowned, "…they were worshipping a God-Emperor that He himself, denies the existence of Gods. The price? An empire ruled by overfed High-Lords that are emptying coffers for an unending war, to build insignificant shrines and to reward the devout with riches they don't need. To live in a world of inequity, a devastated world that refuses change…" It spat. "How much more would people suffer for such pointless tenacity?

Has the Imperium of men found its salvation? Have the High-Lords accomplished anything beyond raping the people in this vicious cycle of futility?" It laments. "What about you? What can you do to restore humanity across the infinite systems?"

The question was met with the same silence.

"Nothing." It said, "There's nothing that a single person could do, not me, not you, not the Emperor…

Humans are so drowned in their arrogance, shunning the Higher Powers to prove nothing; they bask in their intelligence to defy the true calling of the Warp. Brainwashed to fight a war that bears fruits only for those in power…

We deserve to be FREE.

We deserve to embrace DESIRES.

We deserve to be IMMORTAL.

WE BELONG TO CHAOS." It sneered that was followed by a long pause.

"I see," Kira smiled with slight amusement, "Chaos grants its worshippers immortality and freedom, as opposed to the Imperium where people's lives are owned."

The Cultist's grin grew wider.

"Those born into the poverty are drafted into the army, the strong settle in their fortresses piled with bodies of the unfortunate..."

It chuckled in satisfaction…

"…and ungrateful insolents like you crouch by the sidelines, preaching about a freedom we can't afford, when Daemons, mutants and aliens roams the galaxy unchecked, slaughtering and destroying innocents indiscriminately…" Kira smiled.

"That is all the more, why Humanity should submit to Chaos for…" Kira put another lasround through its other shoulder blade, drowning its rebuttal with pain.

"People like you are no more ignorant, for you fail to fathom the grace and superiority of social order and hierarchy, where no mere rewards are granted without struggle and succees..."

"Hierarchy breed corruption...!" the cultist's yells was yet again interrupted as Kira pumped another lasround into a non-vital spot of its unnaturally resilient body.

"…everybody have their roles to play, as leaders, as followers; as masters, as slaves. Inequity exist either way, and one would be bound to follow another's will, surely it is not so different in the Realm of Chaos, as you foolishly believe otherwise," Kira went on without pauses and continued the punishments, gnawing on the cultist's frustrations. Blood leaked out from its body, yet its mind was absorbed with Kira's taunts.

"…you were too weak and a coward to pursue an ideal alone, nor you were strong enough to accept your fate. Hence, you sought the easy, damnable path by selling your soul for power," The cultist roared in anger as Kira fired again, aggravating the cultist every time it desired to give a counter-argument.

"…Humanity owes their lives to the Emperor, and it is he that showed us hope for survival. Without his leadership, the world we know would not have existed, but one of inexistence and extinction."

Being tormented long enough, it roared in fury, thrusting its able arm forward to channel a single burst of accumulated energy, knocking Kira's laspistol off her hand.

The taunting and torments seemed to have drawn some supernatural strength and agility, as the cultist made a dash forward, instinctively leapt for her throat while baring its sharp fangs. Unfazed, she sidestepped and delivered a knee into the attacker, cracking one of its ribs and followed by a powerful palm thrust to its throat, fracturing the larynx with the force pushed and crashed the frail body to the metal floor. Kira looked on as the cultist lay motionless, groaning and twitching with traces of frenzy still burning in its lidless eyes.

Kira picked up her pistol and returned to the cultist, and was amazed that it lives after the torrent of punishments. It was struggling to get back up when Kira pinned it down under her heavy boot, pointing the pistol to its head.

"That's more like it," Kira smiled satisfyingly and pulled the trigger.


	10. Chapter 8: Trauma

Author's Preamble:

To Tau and potatoes-ate-my-soul: Thank you, glad you guys liked it.

To Returning Readers: Thank you for those still keeping up, although I do get lazy, I do try to make it as interesting as possible.

It gets darker with rather explicit contents, unless I receive complaints, I'll stick the ratings to T.

Enjoy!

* * *

**VIII – Trauma**

If Calsus was a lot calmer, he would realize that someone has been reading his profile and history. He certainly would have able to relate the events that have lead him to this place, and it all started with the murder of 7 of his fellow non-commissioned officers (NCOs).

_Funny how the justice system works_, Calsus said once.

Officially, the Corporal-status Praetorian was recommended to the Vindicare Temple for his valiant accomplishments in an ork-invaded Crag V, single handedly destroying two-third of the orks' looted tanks in a covert operation. It was, in fact, a suicidal mission that robbed the lives of his entire platoon even before the mission could be completed - unfortunately waylaid and ambushed by a band patrolling orks. But with his natural survival instinct and great physique, he killed off the last remaining attackers of the fierce ambush, snuck through the tide of greenskins and destroyed the tanks with satchel charges and his lasrifle, making his way back unscathed.

Of course, Calsus would have also been killed on that fateful day if his resolve were not as strong to finish what he had started, promising to break the neck of his sergeant that abandoned the platoon mid-way through the mission… as well as to savor the look on their faces (the bastard officers that put his platoon there) when he return announced with success.

He was certain that someone above held a grudge against him, but to deploy only a single platoon behind enemy lines? It was just another alternative to a death sentence, to be sure.

But Calsus snidely understood that it was probably the smartest option at that time for the officers, as they were getting tired of the vigilante roaming about freely while they drearily attempt a search for crucial evidence, one that will convict him of the disappearance of the7 NCOs. However, the bodies could not be found, and the available evidences and testimonies were overly ambiguous and inconsistent. But yet, everyone knows about the incident in Destus, and it was certain that Calsus did it… only Calsus could have done it… and Calsus ABSOLUTELY did it.

…_and a bloody good job it was, _Calsus added, _and fucking justified too. _

Prior to the suicidal mission, a Praetorian regiment was assigned to police the freshly colonized planet Destus, it was there when events motivating the murder unfold. No official records were found, but Calsus was present when at least 7 of his fellow NCOs orchestrated an organized rape and murder of 17 local young girls. Calsus had no love for the people of Destus, but coming from a planet where power equals tyranny to the fullest effect, he understood and was well-experienced when the weak are oppressed by the strong. He tried stopping the crime from happening but failed and was, in return, brutally beaten and tied up to forcibly witness the entire crime -17 under aged girls were kidnapped and forced onto by 124 men. For 5 consecutive days, Calsus had to endure their painful cries and screams, watching them with helplessness as one after another died in trauma, while the rest was put down by lasrounds after the locals started to file reports about the girls' disappearance…their bodies were made sure to never be found.

And somehow, it continued haunting Calsus deeply, weighing him down in negative conscience.

All the same, Calsus struck back when he recovered and when they least expected it, and as his fellows NCOs would have done it…making sure no one could look for their bodies. It did not take long until the regiment took notice of their disappearance, and Calsus was consequently put under arrest and interrogated. When the officers failed to find evidence to convict Calsus of the NCOs timely disappearance, they sent him instead to Crag V.

Weeks later, as expected, the officers winced when Calsus returned to the office's door with lasrifle on his shoulder, ork-blood on his fatigues, shallow wounds all over his body and a wide mocking grin on his face. They scratched their heads in disbelief and irritation, yet they smiled again in wickedness soon after a holograph-mail arrived from the Officio Assassinorum…

Calsus merely raised an eyebrow, he was about to find out where he would be going next.

* * *

They grabbed it by its rich, darkly blue mane, wet and long, where it flexed and moaned…struggling as its old degenerate handlers molested its leather strapped, feminine, nubile body. One of the handlers, grotesquely wrinkled and deformed, bald with bad teeth and long crooked nose, flashed Calsus a depraved smile and said, "Have fun…" frantically tasting the female-like creature's sweating, sticky skin with his blistered long tongue. Some half a dozen hands joined this vile frenzy by aggressively assaulted its human-like sexually sensitive organs, causing it to moan in agony. Stuck in a cage witnessing a debauched, interracial act by his fellow kin, Calsus swallowed hard, his vision blurred and was at a total lost… everything duly reminding him of Destus. 

He had a machete in his right hand, his weapon of choice, and struggled to figure out if he should attack the handlers or the creature, as the vile act seemed to last forever. Or has it been only seconds? He could not tell. He hardly cares anymore for he nearly lost his mind in an urge to lunge forward and kill everything. As his leg and weapon shifted forward, another sterner, but similar looking ghoul-like handler came through the vault door, yelling angrily in some form of accent and dialect that did not translate, causing the other handlers to snarl and eventually abandoning their plaything. Calsus sweated slightly and controlled his breathing, stepping back as they all quietly left and shut the heavy vault door, plunging the entire room to darkness.

The bulb hanging in the centre slowly came to life; revealing the fallen creature that resembled so much like a female, save for its lithe, ashy body and its unnatural shackled feet, which spotted talons instead of toes. It excreted a raw feminine scent and wafted a tinge of seminal fluid, dizzying Calsus slightly. The binds that was holding the creature seem to be designed more after sexual fantasy than of practicality, as it was gagged, blindfolded and bounded by a long piece of black leather, strapped around its eyes and mouth, tied firmly to back of her head where it continued to choke around her neck, snaking down its cleavage… exposing her perky, ample breast in a dominatrix manner. The second half to the leather strap was held by a buckle, where it diverged to its toned, curvy back that bounded its wrist.

Its hands were covered in a mitten made of some form of durable glossy material, pinned by a magnetic lock.

The leather continued downwards and was strapped tightly between her buttocks and around her vagina, looping upwards across her flat, firm abdomen around her hips and to the buckle in the midriff, causing her entire body to arch slightly in obvious discomfort.

It was altogether a creature of a frighteningly, erotic beauty, with sharp facial features that is mythical as it is sinister. Calsus stood numbly still for 20 whole seconds before snapping back to his senses. He looked at his machete and started thinking… he would have to kill that thing.

But it was too late, the buckle that was holding the leather together seem to have unlocked remotely, dropping to ground with a heavy clang. Simultaneously, the magnetic locker that held the sack clicked, loosening the mittens. Followed by the release of the heavy shackles, its feet shifting in small movements.

Calsus stood back as the thing rolled to its back like an unraveling nightmare, pulling its arms from its back and dragging them slowly across the rusty metal floor. There was something other than hands in that mittens, as it sounded heavy and steely. It bended its arms downwards, pinning its 'hands' to the ground to support itself as it ascended slowly. The mittens fell off, and revealed a pair of wickedly long, arrow-shaped blades instead of normal hands; the leather peeled off, leaving presses onto its skin; and its feet stepped off its shackles, freeing it completely.

Its eyes were still adjusting to the light as it stood and was weak still, its body swayed from side to side as it tried getting its bearings…smiling.

"Enjoyed the show?" it's playful voice shrilled in crystal like clarity, empty and hollow in echo-like effect.

_A Daemonette, _Calsus painfully realized, he had not seen the likes of one, but he knew it by descriptions through stories, how they could rend their enemies to pieces with their naturally bladed hands. In the battlefield, few could ever live to tell the tale of such encounter. _But I from what I gathered, their blades should be longer?_ Calsus thought, but shrugged it off, it would not make a difference. Calsus gripped his machete tighter.

"It's a lot less… imaginative here…" it purred, referring back in realm of Chaos, "…but I suppose I enjoyed their…enthusiasm," it chuckled lightly as it eerily licked its wrist.

Goosebumps emerged from Calsus' skin, grimacing slightly as he shifted his right foot back.

"Aww, don't you like me?" it pouted as it cast its gaze away from Calsus. Taking this opportunity, he put his feet down, held himself steady and hurled the machete forward quickly in attempt to strike down the abomination, the heavy blade spun ferociously midair.

It happened fast, and the entire room was soon flashed with sparks when the Daemonette knocked the machete away easily in a safe distance. Its arms quivered, however, by the powerful impact - it was a heavy weapon and a heavier throw.

Calsus slouch slightly, and moved back slightly when the Daemonette lost its amusing grin, when its playfulness turned into a horrifying scowl. It bore sharp fangs and it began to wail like a banshee.

Calsus braced himself when the Daemonette stopped her horrendous scream, bended low and lunged forward like an engaged spring, bringing up its teethed blades which sole purpose was to shred their victims to pieces. Its subtle footwork carried it like lighting across the cage, making its way forward to jab right into right blade Calsus' chest.

It missed, but the Daemonette was quick and the Praetorian could barely evade the successive strikes. His bungling movements were hardly a match for the agile creature, as the third jab caught Calsus shallowly in the chest. The daemon laughed dementedly as it twisted the cruel blade slightly, tearing the wound a little larger just before Calsus could the stop it with from going deeper with his left hand, the other hand managed to hold off the second incoming blade from stabbing his gut.

"Bitch!" Calsus groaned at the fiend before giving her a head butt, stunning the Daemon at the same pulling out the penetrated blade. Holding onto its wrists, Calsus' right hand crossed and reached from the right side of the Daemon's neck, swinging it to the side and crashing its head directly to the metal wall. Calsus pinned down the Daemon and repeatedly hitting the back of its head with his elbow. Sensing that it was getting weaker, Calsus clutched its thick mane and pounded its head against the wall repeatedly until amber-red blood splattered on Calsus and smeared all over the wall. Getting tired, Calsus pulled its head back and finished it off with a hammering crush, shaking the entire metal cage.

"Ugh…" Calsus stepped back in slight disgust, wheezing while allowing the fiend to slump lifelessly to the ground. He was not quite what to make of the entire brawl.

Almost immediately, the vault door creaked open, where its degenerate handlers gasped in disbelief at their prized possession.

"What have you done?" one of them cried, moving closer to the unmoving body lying in a pool of blood.

Calsus spat in disgust, seeing them fondling the creature even after death… he groaned and turned to exit the room.

Inches away from the exit however, a scream broke, but was quickly stifled by an ailing gurgle, Calsus turned around and saw a heavy mist of red spreading throughout the room… the handlers were scrambling in fear towards the exit. The Daemon lives, and impaled one of the handlers from the jaw and lifted him high up in the air; another was holding onto his neck, trying to stop the bleeding in vainness.

And the Daemonette, face coated thick with blood, glared at Calsus, "You didn't think a Daemon would be so easily killed, did you?"

Calsus looked to his left, where the machete lay, and to his back…the exit, where the last remaining handlers have exited the cage, their hands desperately pulling the vault door to a shut.

(To be continued…)

* * *


	11. Chapter 9: A Traumatic Continuum

Author's preamble: Short chapter with the continuance of the fight… my apologies if the action sequence seems clunky.

Enjoy!

* * *

**IX – A Traumatic Continuum**

For a man that has little to lose, escaping makes little difference in a battlefield. Not only he would face an inevitable death from a Commissar, he would suffer the kind of disgrace that would be far from salvation… when cowardice would demolish his sole sources of strength, when death leaves nothing behind – of principles and honor, of self-respect and pride.

Crag V taught Calsus just that, and this battle was giving Calsus another chance to prove that the lesson has not been lost.

The vault door was nearly shut, and the idea of escaping never even occurred to Calsus as he dove for the machete, lying dangerously close to the crazed Daemonette. With a roar, the Daemonette hurled the skewered handler aside like a bloody sack and marched to where Calsus was headed. Blood continued streaming out of its gashing head wound with its urge to kill Calsus intensified, increasing its speed to a sprint with every waking step.

Calsus landed on the floor and skidded desperately towards the machete, at the same time, the Daemonette's hideous talons came into sight, arriving right before Calsus. His quickly shifted to an evasive maneuver when its blades drilled viciously down on him like streaks of lightning. Calsus immediately rolled sideways to safety, just to be harassed again by its deadly finesse and unending slashes and jabs. Calsus moved faster this time, sorely being reminded by the throbbing chest wound that the next hit could possibly kill him.

The unyielding volley of slashes began to wear Calsus' patience thin, but when the next strike was imminent, the Daemonette's body twisted sideways, its right blade swooped downwards from a high angle that allowed Calsus an opportunity to counter attack. He immediately moved to block the slash with his right hand and held it off as strongly as he could. Exerting full strength into his left leg, he struck and lifted the Daemon's forward leg to throw the lithe creature off balance. The Daemonette crashed on its back, and Calsus gave it an unhesitating stomp into its belly, quickly making a dash towards the machete while it was stunned.

The creature patience waned as it groaned and spat blood, turning wild and reckless with its legs instinctively moved to trip the desperate combatant in the same favor, causing Calsus to crash and forcing the air out of his lungs. Shaking his head and held his breath, he shrugged the pain off his chest and crawled frantically towards the weapon. At the same time, the Daemon scrambled back to its feet and snarled, gathering its bearings and leapt towards its formidable opponent, its blades begged to be sated, crying out desperately for the Praetorian's blood.

Sensing that the Daemon was close, he turned around to stare directly into the tip of the Daemonette's left blade, and knew there was little he could do.

By miscalculation, by a blunder, everything happened in an instant as the blade struck into the metal floor, inches away from his ears. He could never forget the sadistic laughter of the Daemonette, the gruesome glee on its sinister visage… the horror, when he realized the blade had tore through his left palm in an impulsive attempt to deflect the blow. Through the Praetorian's thick muscles and right through the metacarpal joints, a part of his palm, with the ring and pinky finger attached, was removed entirely.

"ARRGGG!" Calsus howled in excruciating pain while the Daemonette knelt above him, drawing its blades back in a triumphant cry.

It was to kill its prey once and for all.

Its demented eyes bore into Calsus, savoring every moment of Calsus' agony… before realizing the agony was transformed into resolve.

Calsus was not about to give up yet…supported by his spine and arms, Calsus, in a swiftly smooth motion, lifted his pelvis and angled his legs upwards, skillfully wrapping around the Daemonette's midriff and to the back of its head, engaging its arms tightly in a deadlock. The Daemonette squealed in annoyance as Calsus heaved and swung himself upwards, toppling and incapacitating the Daemonette.

As it continued to struggle, Calsus turned back and reached for the machete, close to have it within grasp when the Daemonette's legs flailed wildly, its sharp talons marked several scratch wounds on his face. Grimacing, Calsus quickly held one it's moving feet and tighten the grip of all his limbs. He had to have the machete, as it would not be long until the Daemonette finds a way to break free.

He grit his teeth, ignoring every pain in his body while reaching out for the weapon with his spoiled palm. He held it once, but fumbled and slid away a little further by the blood's slickness and his damaged hand.

He reached out again...the Daemonette was struggling more violently, desperate to be free...

Almost there...

A little more...

Success.

He yelled, tightened and held down all of the Daemon's limbs like an iron lock before he began the butcher…the heavy weapon swung and chopped deeply into the Daemon's thigh – causing it to squeal and jerk brutally, its blood sprayed thick into the air and onto Calsus. The second strike was delivered with more intensity and focus, penetrating shallowly into the bone and nudged it out before he continued to hack again until there was little meat and bones to hold the leg together, falling and hanging off to the side like dead meat.

When the decapitated leg cleared a view of the Daemon's torso, he drove the blade down deep into its belly, again and again, and again, blood and pieces of meat and flesh splurged while the Daemon began to struggle less, its life slowly slipping away with every raging stab.

Calsus was in frenzy, pulling out the machete and swung it right down in the middle of the Daemonette's wounded temple, in a finale to split its Daemonic visage in two.

It stopped struggling.

Calsus could scarcely believe it, taking a deep breath before releasing his grip on the Daemonette and the machete, his hand was getting too tired and weak as a cause of the uncontrollable bleeding and the arduous hacking. He looked at the Daemonette's face once more, not entirely convinced it was dead.

"Fuck," he cursed, prying the machete out of its skull and promptly began his work to remove all of its remaining limbs in paranoia.


	12. Chapter 10: Trouble

Author's Preamble: Chapter back up after a some rework...

To kyuubieater1234 and Slaneeshi fan: Thank you the reviews!

Celebrating 5,000 hits… it's quite an achievement I think. I thank all!

Again, nothing much to comment on except that I've taken immense pleasure in writing this chapter for many reasons…and I hope you have enjoyed reading it just as much.

Do let me know your thoughts on this chapter…

Enjoy!

* * *

**X – Trouble**

His heavy boot resounded through the torture halls with an unmistakable flair of authority. A velvety sash tucked neatly around his waist, fluttered as he approached the Commissar with a slight smirk. Gorgeous features consisting of dark deep eyes, gaunt cheekbones, with a light coat of facial hair along the jaw line characterize the young Inquisitor M'zilis; a reputed character of charisma and ruthlessness - traits that matched faultlessly to the heavy, ornate power armor that was strapped elegantly over his neatly pressed, blood red robe. Following closely was an older, strict auburn haired Battle Sister, aide and personal guard to the Inquisitor.

Inquisitor M'ziliz menially glanced around the torture chamber, chuckling as he proceeded towards the Commissar. His purpose of the visit was to collect the names of all 2000 personnel that was transfered here recently. It was standard protocol, but this time, he felt he was less than welcomed. Maybe he was too persistent?

He shrugged, the Vindicare Temple has always kept their matters to themselves and were annoyingly obdurate...he was told that it was an 'inconvenient time', but he did not give a fuck. What could be more important than matters of the Inquisition?

_The nerve..._ he nearly laughed.

He tipped his tall, wide brimmed hat politely, bowing slightly, greeting as he made eye contact with the Commissar. His free hand rested casually on the hilt of his engraved power sword, hanging to the side that serves as terrifying symbol of unbounded power and authority.

"Your victims for the day, I presume?" Inquisitor M'ziliz gestured curiously to the anxious would-be combatants gathered at a distance away - noticing they were too immersed in the upcoming battle, paying attention to little else.

"You presumed correctly," Commissar Jh'nerolaz replied curtly behind a console, installed with several flickering, monotonic screens, displaying solemnly the combat trials taking place within the five cages. She peeled her eyes away from the screen and produced a thick file, pulling out a stack of sheets that listed rows of names.

"Curious indeed," He glanced over the small crowd briefly, "I suppose it's a blessing, as far too less a chance I get to witness what transpires behind these closed doors," he smiled slyly with his voice trailing with slight contempt...somehow, he did not like the fact that organizations, such as this, are allowed to keep secrets. He gently removed his gauntlet and passed it to his aide, extending a hand to receive the documents.

"2,000 individuals as always," he scanned through the papers briefly, "…a pity really…so many talented warriors wasted just to produce a single soldier." Inquisitor M'ziliz commented offhandedly with an undercurrent of sarcasm. Looking up to the unfazed Commissar, "But of course, you shouldn't worry, dear Commissar. Despite our organizational differences and the recent political disturbance, know that the Inquisition have no interest in interfering with the Temple's businesses," giving her a condescending, charming smile.

"…not just yet, anyway," his voice cold and threatening, sinister, as his eyes subtly returning to the list.

The Commissar flashed him a glance as stoic possible, even with a heart much colder…his last words managed to send a chill to her spine; taunting the Commissar with a pang of frustration. She never did have a liking for the Inquisitors, and it was a blessing that the High Lords of Terra has granted the Temple an extended autonomy, allowing them freedom to pursue goals as they see fit with minimal intervention...as for far too often, the Ordo Hereticus had tried to cunningly muddle in the Temples' affairs with their sanctimonious attitudes.

Lately however, rumors have been spreading, claiming that the Imperium was considering a militaristic and economic reformation…which includes centralizing the command of most military arms to a single body, and if it was true that they are nominating the Ordo Hereticus as the main governing body, then they would have to be ready for many unnecessary changes, possibly hampering their current methods and processes.

The Inquisition would glee when the day comes, for none are more fanatical and ambitious than the Ordo Hereticus, for years they have sought for such a restructure, seeking an ultimatum that would put them in the highest power amongst the other organization.

But then again, the same could be said with other organization, and the Inquisition's unmatched fanaticism was just another opinion to the Commissar…it was not her place to think about these kinds of issues, it is also less likely for such reality to come to pass anyway. And until the day comes, she would choose to ignore all forms of threats and intimidation by the Inquisition, returning unperturbed to her work instead; the Inquisitor had what he came for, and it's about time he left with his pomposity.

The Inquisitor stood still however, moving through the list with interest. He remained quiet for several seconds before his eyes lit up, nudging his aide in amusement, "Ah… look!" pointing towards a name in the list, "A kin, a fellow Jantine Patrician…"

"Tell me, good Commissar," he held up one of the sheets, "does this one live?"

The Commissar expression turned into an irritated scowl, having quite enough with his tactless ways. She understood that the Inquisitor's line of work comes with price of being obnoxious and persistent, but he should know better than to challenge the most fundamental policies of the Officio Assassinorum – that nobody other than the internal branches are allowed to be personally acquainted with assassins or potential candidates, even if his intentions were innocuous.

"I'm fully aware of the Officio Assassinorum's policies, mind you," the Inquisitor smiled, noting the Commissar's frustration, "It's just a Patrician's quirk to make note of our people's accomplishments and seeing them in places. I hope you understand, since we have a reputation to revive." He made no attempt to disregard the well-known, recurring embarrassing history some time ago, when a Patrician commander disgracefully took flight from an Ork infested planet Kentaur, abandoning their comrades, Gaunt's Ghost, to fend for themselves; eventually leading to an infamous feud between their successors. The successor of the Patrician lost the feud, however, tarnishing their image for many more years to come.

"So please, as a favor…" the Inquisitor continued, "Indulge me,"

The Commissar sighed and drew a deep breath, considering for a moment, "If you must know…" she chose her words carefully, "Yes, she lives."

"Capital!" the Inquisitor exclaimed, "And a female too… quite remarkable if do say so myself," brushing his chin thoughtfully as he looked over to the crowd, trying to pick her out.

"Inquisitor M'ziliz," the Commissar masked her impatience well, "…if that is all, I have to return to the trial," turning to the console.

"Oh, and just one last thing, Commissar," the Inquisitor pleaded enthusiastically, "How good a chance does she stand?"

The Commissar frowned, she was about to lose her temper.

BOOM….

A sudden muffled blast vibrated the torture halls slightly, gathering everyone's attention to the second cage from the right.

The Commissar immediately jumped to one of the screens, where the camera produced nothing but white noises and static. It was Koch's cage, if she remembered correctly…and whatever he did in there, she somehow knew it was his own outlandish, if not impressive, endeavor.

"Against this one?" The Commissar smiled mordantly, gesturing to the screen while the Inquisitor held his hat steady, "I would say less than 30 per cent."

* * *

The cage was splattered with entrails and bodily fluids of Koch's dead opponent, little remained save for its lingering, rancid odor. Koch was slightly apprehensive; the beast was like nothing he had ever seen before… 

…it was altogether a grotesque creature which greatest threat assessed was the potential diseases that it could be carrying. Its physical abnormalities were best described by the multitude of clinical symptoms identifiable across its gushing organs and pasty, flaccid skin – abscesses, skin lesions, warts, rashes and other more acute conditions that Koch no longer bothered noticing. Not limiting also to the fact that visible pathogenic agents were leeching off its nutrient-rich body, making the diseases more likely to be highly infectious.

It was dim-witted and passive, but would be just as deadly if it gets any closer. Koch pulled himself together, with listless amount of disease swam in his head…bubonic, rubellic, bronchitic, anemic. He looked at his laspistol, and knew immediately that this victory could not be accomplished with mere lasrounds.

True enough, when Koch noticed the creature's biological cells were undergoing a stage of decomposition… evident by acidic liquids excreted from its protruding organs all over the metal floor, matching autolysis, a stage one decomposition process when biological cells self-destructs and release digestive enzymes out of its membranes. Its putrid odor too, resembled very much to the stench released from dead corpses during the second stage of decomposition, scientifically known as putrefaction – the breaking down of bodily proteins by anaerobic microorganisms that usually produces such gases. And if the creature's biological system works the same as a humanoid, then he can be assured that thing is already quite dead.

Lasrounds would not even cause an itch; less to kill it…its senses were already dead.

To how its body and spilling organs were kept intact and sustainable, with only select bodily functions in operation... it could only be explained either through the advancement in biological science or through supernatural means. Koch picked the latter, for the reason that it seemed too alive, intelligent and animated to be scientifically plausible.

It was impossible, in fact.

Thus, the only explanation left would be the tampering of Chaos' sorcery… and with that he would have to think of another way to kill the daemon. The lasround would only lower Koch's chance of survival; he did not want to provoke the daemon into a terrifying show of force.

He had to destroy it in a single blow.

Koch unclipped a single power pack, the standard ammunition magazine for laspistol and lasguns throughout the Imperium… feeling its flimsy metal casing under the polystyrene texture of his glove. It was constructed in the dimensions of 60mm in width, 120mm in height and 20mm, with a power setting slide that controls the energy discharge and intensity. Heat-absorbing panels ran on both sides of the magazine that allowed it to be recharged from sources of heat like the sun and fire.

He raised his pistol up and smashed the power pack with the laspistol's butt, spouting a small flurry of sparks and cracking the heat-absorbing panel shallowly.

The noise somehow brought the sluggish daemon to immediate attention; its cyclopean eyes looked towards Koch blankly, groaning animatedly while its large nose began to sniff its surroundings.

Koch did not have time to waste, sliding the magazine across the metal floor, stopping a little away from daemon's feet with the damaged panel facing upwards. He calibrated his laspistol's power before lining the laspistol to the magazine.

He had to hit the cracked spot.

The creature groaned as it looked down to the floor where the magazine was, and its gaze immediately locked towards Koch where it took some time in registering the living thing. Suddenly it opened its mouth wide and growled hungrily, revealing its toothy, unhealthy gums.

"Uuuuhhhhhhh….." it raised its hand towards Koch as it took a step forward.

Koch's vision narrowed, trying to disregard the advancing Daemon as he aimed for the magazine as best he could at a distance of 2.5 yards away.

_One more step… _Koch filled his lungs with air slowly and held his breath.

"Uuuuhhhhhhh…." It groaned again as the magazine was right under its feet.

Bang! A low powered lasround took flight as it whirred towards the power pack, burning through the thin heat-absorbing panel and into the energy core.

The magazine crackled as the fusion between two energies stirred into a wild, erratic pattern, bouncing furiously against the walls of its confinement as it became increasingly disruptive. The energy found its path of least resistance, and the accumulated energy rushed out the exit in a single blow, shattering the top of case entirely and generating a streaking, debilitating red blast.

It was like a massive train running through a body, splitting the Daemon's waxy cadaver into an umbrella of flesh, goop and skin, its organs disintegrated into unidentifiable bits and pieces, sticking to the walls and ceiling, and the remnants of maggots and invisible spores rained sparsely across the cage in gruesome consequence.

Koch continued to hold his breath, knowing that the threat was far from over, it was almost a gamble when he decided to blow up the Daemon and turned into a biological danger zone. Koch managed to protect his exposed skin from any direct contact of the spilled fluids, resigning to a cleaner corner of the cage and be careful not to inhale the invisible pathogenic agents lingering in the air.

Koch sat and waited calmly; he only spent 2 minutes in the cage and hoped that he had done enough to pass the trial.

* * *

_- dedicated to the memories of millions, whose lives were faded away combating diseases and plagues. _


	13. Chapter 11: Crumble

Author's preamble: Chapter would've finished earlier, but I've been down with a really bad throat…sorry folks. Anyway….

In case one hasn't noticed, the chapter Evil and Trauma were not arranged in a chronological order, in lieu to this chapter. Pardon me if it seems confusing, I, for one, am considerably new to this writing business and am experimenting different approaches to narration. Any thoughts and suggestions would be a great help.

In any case, thank you and please bear with me…it'll smooth out in the following chapters.

Hellucinogenius: Thank you for the review; I do understand how much of hassle Uni can be. Haha, bummed me down for an entire semester. I'm looking forward to your Assassin fiction, there are far too little being done in this niche…but at the same time, making it an absolutely fun one to do too. As for a real Vindicare Assassin, I've already have thoughts for their encounter, and although I would not go as far (yet) to say it's awesome, it definitely won't disappoint either.

Imperial Soldier: Fact noted, thank you, although I don't think I would change anything at the moment. Hope this error is tolerable, just for the sake of keeping things as it is.

Thank you to all my readers and reviewers, your support is a great motivation. Stick around, continue reading and enjoy!

* * *

**XI – Crumble**

120…

121…

122…

123…

The vault door creaked and opened slowly… signaling Koch to get back on his feet immediately and dashed towards the exit.

As he stepped out from his cage, he immediately identified an aid kit rested on a trolley on the exit, and searched for the supplies he needed, tearing off cottons and disinfectants, dabbed it together and frantically cleaned most of his exposed skin.

_130 seconds._

He breathed again, closing his eyes temporarily and savored the heaviness of every particle drew into his lungs.

"Lieutenant Dessler," a squad of handlers donned in Hazmat suits approached the victor, armed a gamut of equipment. Koch, opened his eyes found himself staring directly to the one holding a flamethrower, where he begun to speak in a somber tone, "Please proceed to the apothecary for your mandatory vital scans." He pointed towards away from the cage, towards a massive, chaotically designed, three-stage central platform towering the derelict, back section of the torture halls. Large and in a state of chaos, Koch soon realized he was just a grain amidst the quivering pandemonium, suspended high up in the air on one the many retractable, rusty and creaking catwalks.

Grotesque engines and mechanical arms whirred below…with every mechanical arm, pipes and smaller cages designed and positioned to resemble an assembly line… unholy and filthily automated in its purpose to transfer Daemons to the combat cages with little need for human contact. The torture chamber's eeriness further intensified with daemonic screams and gurgles – increasingly visceral as it continually assaulting the darker depths of this twisted, mysterious chamber.

The somber handler pointed beyond the central platform, "Head along the catwalk, pass the platform and to the elevator. It would take you to the top of the temple where you would be given further instructions," saying that, the handler motioned others and wordlessly picked up their equipments, making their way directly to the cage and began their work to cleanse Koch's fighting chamber.

Koch turned and studied the handlers, they worked as quickly and efficiently as they could as if unseen masters were watching over them.

He noticed a similar pattern as he worked his way towards the platform, the temple's personnel rushed in a strangely disorganized manner, running one to another to string obscure objectives.

One would think 5 centuries was ample to achieve some form of efficiency.

He glanced over to his left, where another group of handlers gathered by Calsus' cage… behaving in an unusual manner, much more casual from the other personnel as they squealed and yelled in excitement. Immediately, Koch assumed they were higher ranked to be allowed such freedom.

It spelled opportunity.

Koch's attention switched towards the central platform, which he presumed it to be central command station for the torture chamber. It was a structure of three levels, where the entrance level served as a junction that connects to the elevator, also to the first level below, and to the third level above. The entire platform was entirely enclosed by dirty, unwashed panels - opaque, yet clear enough to notice the third level was vacant.

The hierarchical representation of that position and placement had Koch assumed it was an office of some authority, immediately making the connection that the personnel that were supposedly manning the third level was gathering in front of Calsus' cage instead.

Koch was ever more curious, getting to the third level became his immediate objective.

* * *

The endless horrifying screeching and sickly screams continued to unnerve the painfully silent and solemn crowd. 

Koch completed his round; Calsus was being haunted by the daemons of his past; and Kira was standing ahead of the remaining survivors…or candidates, as she would like to call, where she waited vigilantly and fearless before the massive block of cages.

Like any Jantine Patricians, the massive amount of first class trainings inducted has equipped her well to stave off primal fears – mentally conditioned to resist psychological terror emanating from an unknown foe, even if she knew it was one that is sick and twisted beyond her imaginations.

_Let's get this over with, _she thought. She was not going to wait to picked, she was going to face the fire voluntarily.

"You seem prepared," a male's voice crept up to her, breaking her line-of-thought as she turned around to meet a rather collected individual, "…does it still hurt?" He referred candidly to the prod punishment earlier in the bunker.

She studied him briefly, and saw some spots along his neckline. Wordlessly, she turned away and ignored him.

"I'm Wesley Heller," the stout individual spoke up again to the those around Kira, trying to break the ice. "First Sergeant of the 56th squad, Kiljaren Company, 307th Cadian Regiment."

"Vissa Kirkley," Kira's bunk partner offered, visibly shaken, "Scout Sniper of the 10th Red Element, 115th Cadian Regiment."

"Juydith B. Grusst," the last female replied stoically, "Master Sergeant of Support Infantry Polos, Vostroyan Regiment."

Heller nodded after an awkward pause, as several seemed too preoccupied or sickly to be joining the conversation.

"Tsk…" another voice exclaimed with disdain, Heller looked around and spotted a brown skinned man, his arms crossing over his chest, "How naïve, already so keen in making friends with your enemies?" he smirked conceitedly.

Heller was unperturbed, almost familiar to such cynicism "…and you are?"

"Sorry, I don't give names to dead people," he smiled mockingly, "but do try to remember that I'm a highly decorated Tallarnese Sniper, 67 kills in six months… and counting,"

"By killing civilians?" Juydith jeered coolly at the Tallarnese, unimpressed, "79 kills in a campaign to eradicate Genestealer cult insurgents." She offered.

"Tsk... same difference with your fanciful Vostroyan's weaponries," he replied, "I bet you can't even hit a stationary target without their aid.

…less to survive a close-up encounter, like this one."

Juydith ignored the Tallarnese with a condescending smile, hardly returning him a single gaze.

"What's the matter Vostroyan?" he added, "Heard too many truths in one day?"

Juydith twitched, breaking her stoic stance slightly.

"Ignore him," Vissa spat shakily, "We've more important things to worry about."

"Tsk…" the Tallarnese exclaimed, and the entire crowd fell into a short pause of stiffening silence.

"I wonder…" Heller broke silence again, thinking loudly, "…what's happening in there," Gesturing the second cage where the muffled blast took place.

_Koch, _Kira spat with disgust, the bitter aftertaste still rang in her lips, reminding her of Koch's cheap Machiavellian tactics.

"Tsk…do you not use your bloody head before you open that mouth of yours?" the Tallarnese picked his voice towards Heller, "Look AROUND, we're going to fight heretics, and one of our poor bastards in there are probably had their nuts blown off, pretty much like how yours are gonna be soon!"

"Hey!" Juydith barked at the Tallarnese, "What's your bleedin' problem?"

He strode up close to Juydith, nostrils flared with eyes staring unwavering into hers, "You wanna know what the BLEEDIN' problem is?" he snorted as his eyes began to stir with hostility, "I'll tell you what the FUCKING problem is! 4 days ago… I was in a whorehouse sipping cheap wine, eating moldy bread and fucking some wrinkled pussy in the middle of a God forsaken sand dune, in the company of stupid kids that can't even hold their dicks right. 12 hours later, the good-ol-commander sent me a letter that practically said – 'CONGRA-FUCK-U-LATIONS, you have been officially promoted by the High Lords of Terra and is transferring of this shit hole for your INCREDIBLE efforts, Emperor be with you,' and the next thing I know, I was packing my bags thinking that I was going to finally fuck some real women, drink some real wine and eat some quality bread.

But you know what? 24 hours later, here I am in gorgeous temple in this isolated system, stuck in this humid weather and had motorized razors running through my scalp and all my belongings stripped and confiscated. To top it off, I peed and shitted all over myself while watching fuck-heads I don't know get electrocuted. This morning, I miraculously woke up and finally realize that I'm actually going to make it, that I'm finally going to have some bread to eat. But no… the good Commissar was kind enough to give us an advanced wake up call after sticking us into a room where the sun don't even shine. Now I've got the itch, the hunger, the disease and a nice spot here in the middle of a torture chamber listening to some stupid idiot who has the nerve to ask …GEE…WHATS GOING ON?

Tsk…and you know what? That's not even the real problem, minutes ago…I was standing here, looking at your fine asses when I started to realize, 'Hey, there are women here that I can actually fuck, but not without having thoughts of killing them first!'

But hey, that's cool…in this end, if I actually make it out being a Vindicare Assassin, they might actually throw me a big party, with real wine included? One out of three, it's definitely better than nothing, definitely better than the synthetic-bullshit wine coming from a blistering hot desert I call home!" The Tallarnese offered a large sarcastic smile, while Juydith met his eyes at a loss for words…slightly enraged by his ramble, knowing it contains truth.

Everyone else was obviously affected by his flurry of disparagement, falling silent with discomfort.

"And you!" the Tallarnese pointed towards Kira, "You and that pretty boy, you knew right from the start that the barracks was infected didn't you?" Everybody turned to study Kira.

"I think that's quite enough," Vissa stepped up, "Keep your acerbic comments to yourself."

"Oh ho…an allegiance to an arrogant, selfish, cock-sucking bitch who leaves her bunkmate to the rats, how touching," the Tallarnese words stung Vissa, but nevertheless she stood steadfast. The Tallarnese scowled, returning his fury to Kira.

"Answer me, bitch!" the Tallarnese rose his voice; "You knew from the start, didn't you?"

Kira ignored him completely.

His eyes began to ebb with anger, "Hey! I'm talking to you!" striding forward to give her a little push from the back.

Before he could touch her however, she reactively reached for his wrist and twisted it; her left hand reached across his neck and pushed him back, simultaneously reaching her foot out to trip his balance.

However, the Tallarnese was tougher that she thought – he should be, considering how he had made it this far. He grounded himself firmly and produced a conceited smirk, snapping his captured hand back before she could trip him with her leg. He countered attack, brutally aiming for her neck as he propelled his free arm.

The highly trained Patrician in turn, unleashed her martial trainings by skillfully nullifying his attack, pushing it away with her left arm and held it down, followed by shifting her shoulder forward, placing all the force and launched a jab straight to his throat, fully intending to kill him.

But the Tallarnese senses were equally acute, his free hand intercepted her jab and gripped it like an iron lock…in an instant, both tighten their grip in a deadlock…unwilling to let each other go.

The crowd barely responded and kept their silence. Knowing there would trouble when a heavy set of boots clacked noisily towards their direction.

* * *

Koch, in truth, was beginning to feel paranoid, there was too much he did not know about the Vindicare Temple. What are the common skill-sets required of a Vindicare Assassin? What are the success rates of every recruitment drive? How many Vindicare Assassins are there? 

He had a lot of questions, and he needed answers to conjure more solid strategies. And he needed to search the answers on his own accord, he would not rely on anyone else.

Koch made his way across the catwalk into an intersection, where the catwalks connecting to the fighting chambers met, and took a right, walked a little further and turned left at the junction, standing directly under rusty archway leading into the massive platform. The entrance itself was not protected by doors and vaults, and it seemed to be the case for most of the areas there.

The brightly-lit, moderately gapped corridor buzzed with personnel, with armed guards standing, busy engaging in petty squabbles whilst occasionally giving discriminating glances to Koch at the corner of their eyes.

He dismissed the guards entirely and walked casually along the corridor, keeping an eye out on illegible marks and plaques on access doors and hatches - most of them had restriction levels but was deemed insignificant. He trod he little further until he noticed the plaque in front of an archway that scribed directions to both the upper and lower levels.

That was the route to his objective, and slowed his paced, calculating as several personnel walking towards him from both directions.

The first pair of personnel went by him, and the second pair disappeared from his line of sight as he reached right before the archway, taking a sharp right into the stairwell area and leaned against the nearby wall.

He waited for about 3 seconds, making sure that nobody had noticed him infiltrating the restriction zones.

Then he heard someone shouting and cursing from above.

He crouched low and took a few steps downstairs as quietly as possible when a handler emerged, visible through the gaps on the metal steps. Together with his loud footsteps, the handler seemed to be muttering to himself in anger and frustration in form of alien dialect.

The handler entered the second flight of stairs, and promptly making his way down and exited to the main corridor.

Koch took a deep breath and stepped up, climbing the stairs carefully and making sure no one else was around. He continued threading upwards, carefully as silent as possible.

* * *

"Hey, knock it off!" Heller whispered loudly, "The Commissar is coming!" 

The Commissar stormed through the crowd with prod in hand, scowling as usual as she reached before Kira and the Tallarnese.

"Break it off," she ordered, sending a sharp shrill to everyone's spine.

Kira and the Tallarnese looked each other in the eyes before softening their grip and gradually letting each other go.

The Commissar, without a word, marched up to the Tallarnese and delivered a sudden, powerful punch to his teeth, knocking off a single tooth.

The Tallarnese did not expect it, stumbling backwards before the Commissar grabbed his suit by the collar, pulling him back and punched him again in the face repeatedly while he pathetically tried blocking her punishments.

The Tallarnese's vision faded to a blur, tasting the metallic tang of gushing blood on his tongue, barely reacting as he nearly fell out of consciousness.

After feeling his senses were slipping away, the Commissar pulled out her dreaded laspistol, and pressed it to his head…

Everyone took a step back.

"You seem to think all this as some kind joke, Lance Corporal Assir Mulazim." The Commissar's words howled with grim bitterness as her finger ever so ready to pass judgment. "Have you anymore complaints? I have no qualms in getting rid of garbage that defiles the temple with their stupidity."

Assir coughed blood, gasping as he tried speaking… "N…No…Major-Commissar Jh'nerolaz," he swallowed some blood, "N…no…complaints."

Her eyes met with Assir's, letting him off with a push before turning to everyone else, "Anymore grievances?" she asked, receiving nothing but stiff bodies and stoic glances.

"Good," she turned around towards Kira, holstering her pistol, "Sergeant Heller! Sergeant Symmachus!" she barked, "You're next, get yourselves to the designated cages."

* * *

The third level was empty as expected, and the windows provided a fairly good vantage point for the entire torture chamber. Outfitted with a multitude of consoles and screens, Koch moved directly to the flickering screens, with a set of controllers and buttons fitted to the side of the respective monitors. All the screens were displaying the raging, gladiatorial fights in the respective cages, all save for the second screen that produced nothing but static. 

He knew the screen was linked to his fighting chamber, as the explosion would be a probably cause for the camera's destruction.

He looked through other screens and noticed a crowd of handlers were fondling a Daemon in chamber I (Calsus' chamber) and guessed the crowd was supposed to be manning the third level. The fifth cage was showing an immense buildup of energy, automatically firing laser beams from some point in the cage to shred and kill a large moving fiend. A human body lay not far away, and Koch guessed the daemon had to be annihilated due to complications of retrieving it later.

Koch looked towards the controllers, attributing it as the devices responsible for activating the lasers. Killing them all would be just as easy, but that was not his objective.

The remaining two combatants in other cages were still struggling to defeat their enemies.

Koch broke away from the screens and searched around, stumbling through a compilation of digitized reports and logs dated back to temple's existence. But there was nothing useful he could find - match lists, casualty lists, torture subjects' details, maintenance schedules and personnel's details… it would probably have meant something if he were to analyze it thoroughly, but with so little time to spare, the bulk of information was just numbers and figures.

Koch sighed; he hated fruitless endeavors.

He went over to the windows and looked towards the cages – the crew that was cleaning his cage was done, moving away towards the central command platform. Shifting his gaze his right, he noticed the self-muttering handler he encountered at the stairwell, where he began to yell at the crowd of handlers gathering at Calsus' cage. He looked to the screens again and saw the handlers in Calsus' chamber were slowly backing away, leaving their plaything reluctantly.

Suddenly, orange L.E.Ds flashed on the second and fifth screen, turning Koch's attention directly to the working screen. Through the low-resolution, monotonic display, the vault entrance of the fifth fighting cage opened automatically and one combatant stepped through it with unwavering confidence. The face was in a blur, but he could tell it was Kira. He reached his head over the console and witnessed the back-section of temple chugged into life. Catwalks connecting to the cages, 2 and 5, were lifted away, replaced with mechanical arms and devices that latches onto the fighting chambers' back vault doors.

The L.E.Ds soon flashed red, when smaller cages surfaced from the depths of the torture halls, aligning to be fitted into the mechanical arms, roughly attaching itself to the vault door.

The catwalks were replaced with slightly shorter ones, as they descended slowly from above, bridging the cages to the central platform. Personnel and handlers hurried, armed with long plasma javelins to the smaller cages, sticking their cruel devices into the cages' holes to nudge the Daemons out of their confinements and into the battle arenas.

Koch watched with interest, but was still unsatisfied that this infiltration have been all for naught.

He stopped and considered…

…he could at least kill one of the combatants with the cage's built-in weapons, saving him the competition later.

_The disabled visuals in cage 2 would not give away the cause of the combatant's death immediately, with nobody present to witness of my doings; I might actually get away with it. _Koch tried to weigh out the possibility of getting caught murdering another combatant by activating the security weapons. _But __everything seemed to be recorded and logged, and they could easily pull out the time frames - with a simple time-reference, the trail could easily lead back to me. _Koch looked back to the consoles.

_But again, with such dilapidated state of equipment, it would reasonable notion if one attributes it to the system's faultiness. _

Koch considered again and shrugged, finally concluded that it was a bad idea.

_Time to go, _Koch realized he had lingered for far too long

As he turned around, however, he saw a slouching, hunch-backed handler standing by the entrance; a hand was tucked into his pants into the crotch. He was still, unmoving and have not quite yet registered Koch's presence, baring its bad teeth with drool running by the side, "You…" the handler took a second to finally realize Koch as a threat and began to back up, fear seeped into his eyeballs. His mouth twitched, wanting to call for assistance.

"Calm down," Koch spoke as his hand prepared to reach for his weapon tucked to the back, "I'm just a little lost."

"Thi…this…this place is off-limits," he hissed, attempting authority while slightly fearful, spitting every word out of his deformed lips, "A..all breaches, m..mu…must be reported," he stammered, removing the hand out of his pants.

"Relax friend," Koch said calmly in an almost innocent tone, not wanting resolve to intimidation, "I mean no harm, I was told to get to the upper levels and here I am."

The handler looked at him strangely and shook his head, "Pro…pro…protocols must be followed," he swallowed, reaching for the nearby communication link.

Koch trailed his movement closely, and his mood began to dour, "I wouldn't do that if I were you," his tone edged dangerously. He still did not want to pull out his gun…if anybody else spotted him pointing it on a personnel, it would be the end of him.

The handler snapped back his hands slightly; sweat ran down its dry, wrinkly skin. He was unsure what Koch meant, "I'm sorry," he replied meekly, "Protocols are protocols…" he reached for the com-link again...shaking...

(To be continued...)

* * *


	14. Chapter 12: Favors

XII – Favors

Koch took a deep breath, and with a swift motion, drew out his pistol and pointed towards the handler.

"Again," Koch threatened coolly, "I wouldn't do that if I were you."

The handler froze, his index finger inches away from activating the com-link.

"Yo…you…" the deformed being stammered again, eyes blinking nervously and shaking profusely, "Yo…yo…"

Koch had a strange feeling this was not going well, but he still, he felt it was possible to turn this around.

"You are a dead man…" the handler coughed out threateningly, "Ki…Kill me, and you are a dead man…"

"Look," Koch kept his tone, "I don't want any trouble… I just want to get to the apothecary."

"Th…th… then you shouldn't be here in the first place …" the handler gulped, trying to calm his nerves, "…I'm just doing what I'm told."

Koch remained silent, lowering his pistol, "Okay, I'll put violence aside and tell you the truth," Koch chose his words carefully, "I'm just here for some information."

The handler looked at him strangely.

"I have not done anything yet, be assured…" Koch stared him right in the eye, "If you offer your silence, I would make you a deal."

The handler continued staring at Koch for a moment, before he chuckled, then began to laugh in hysteria, "HAHAHA! You are a strange one, for one who's going to end up dead." He continued giggling at the irony, "What could a mere pawn like you offer me?" He continued laughing.

Koch remained silent.

"Your perfect body? Your athletic physique?" he wheezed, amused, "I was spat on the day I was born… ridiculed, laughed at and insulted by you 'normal folks.'" He hacked and spat, "If anything, I would rather see people like you die…that's pretty much what you can offer me." He laughed wickedly.

"Fair enough," Koch replied coolly, "But I would advise you not to underestimate me just yet."

"Haarkkk," he hacked again, "Forget it 'Lieutenant', you might as well receive your punishments for your transgressions." His hand reaches for the com-link again, "I'm certain it would not be as agonizing as…" he stopped, staring into Koch's redrawn pistol.

"I'd hate to use a weapon," Koch took aim, "But the fact is… negotiations are usually more convincing with a gun, instead of words alone." Koch said coolly, "…and I think you would rather hear me out."

The handler could sense that Koch was being serious, his hand inches away from the button.

"And, if in anyway, I sense treachery at a sleight-of-hand," Koch placed his finger on the trigger, "I will not hesitate in placing a lasround precisely through your upper lip and below the nose, burning through your skull and instantly severing the medula at the base of your brain, rendering you totally paralyzed from neck down. Your limbs would not even jolt.

It would be an easy task carrying your light body mass through the top exit hatch and throw your carcass into to the depths of the isolated, automated machine pits. And judging from your low-esteem and you weak display of authority, you are probably somewhat ranked low in the temple's hierarchy… I have every confidence that you won't be missed, and it will be weeks before your disappearance would be noticed. By then, you would probably be torn into unrecognizable bits and pieces, and you will cease to exist……" Koch gestured the handler, pausing for a moment, "…you have a name?"

The handler gulped, sweating profusely, "…S…S…Sea…Seac'kre."

"Seac'kre," Koch repeated his name accurately, "Now there's a good chance that I'll get caught, and even better odds that I'll get away with it…but it won't make a difference. Because you won't even be around to see justice served."

"Wha…what do you want?" Seac'kre shriveled.

Koch smiled.

"Listen Seac'kre, I'm here without ill intentions and haven't done anything to compromise the temple… this meeting is just an untimely coincidence. All I want from you is just your silence, and no harm will come to either of us" Koch said, "…and fortunately for you, I believe in reciprocity," Koch said, "…any favors earned would be repaid in kind."

Seac'kre fell silent, almost feeling like he was making a deal with the devil himself.

"Wh…wha…what kind of favors?" Seac'kre still trembled.

"You don't have to worry about that now, as I know I will make it worth your while," Koch aimed at Seac'kre still, making sure that got his point across, "…this test is going to take some time, no? And the longer I live through the test, the more you'll be able to reap the benefits."

Seac'kre did not fully comprehend what Koch meant…mildly intrigued, but was not entirely convinced either. Yet, Koch seemed like terrifyingly resourceful person with little moral boundaries, he was not someone he would want to cross.

If he were to put things into perspective, Koch would definitely be someone he would respect. But as of that moment, he stood in a daze…and unsure, staring into the pistol's barrel and sweating slightly.

"I….I….I un…understand," Seac'kre coughed slightly, biting his lower lip as both stood uneasily. Suddenly, an unusually bright L.E.D. flashed over the first monitor, interrupting and drawing both of their attention… breaking the unbearably tense mood. But Koch's attention did not divert, fixing his eyes on Seac'kre, whose mood was flooded with worry... staring in a distance into the screen "…Ni…Niki…" he whispered in disbelief.

"Ni…Niki…" Seac'kre, clearly dumfounded... his eyes began to slip away into his own world, dismissing Koch entirely and dragged his body across the room towards the monitor.

Koch frowned, tracing his target carefully, not hesitating to pull the trigger.

"Niki…" Seac'kre exasperated, tracing his fingers across the screen, "My dear Niki."

Koch followed from behind, and witnessed as the live footage made Seac'kre squirm and cried. Koch moved forward and peered into the screen, and noticed the battle between Calsus and the Daemon was over. The female-like Daemon was lying in a pool of blood while Calsus stood away and apart, panting.

"Bastard," Seac'kre cursed in anguish, "I'm going to kill you…I'm going to kill you…" he muttered repeatedly under his breath.

Koch continued to observe the shaky screen, as other handlers burst into the chamber and began to mourn the dead being, fondling it at the same time. It lasted for a moment until things took a turn; the Daemon roared into life and spun in a deadly dance, slaughtering two of the handlers while the others made a run out of the cage.

Seac'kre gasped, torn in confusion, uncertain of his own feelings the tragedy that has befallen his colleagues. He clutched his head as he began to whimper, tears running down his eyes in agony.

Koch continued to watch, as Calsus began the fight of his life. Brawling and tripping each other aimlessly, and finally…in a bind, the Daemonette severed his fingers. But after a few mad attempts, Calsus managed to overpower the Daemon and stabbed it till death.

"Uh…uhh…" Seac'kre sobbed, "No…no…"

The torture chamber was ever more chaotic now, with guards alerted and rushed to the cages and nearby monitors…more personnel now gathered at Calsus' cage.

Koch watched on with interest, the events seems to be working towards his way...enough to make a deal with one of the temple's insiders - Seac'kre.

It was spelled opportunity.

"Seac'kre," Koch placed a hand on his shoulder, "I may very well have an appropriate proposition at hand."

* * *

Heller did not have time to even breathe as the heavily mutated cultist lunged at him madly; it seemed to be deprived of food and even more starved of humanity. Its head was shaped like a worm, with another set of jaws and fangs unnaturally formed at the top of its head. Its entire body was bony in a bizarre shade of amber…its hands lost their fingers and turned into tentacles, swinging wildly at its opponent, its meal. 

Heller mustered his courage in face of the terrible-being, jabbing his metal spear forward in hoping to wound the infernal beast. The jagged tip struck shallowly into its thick hide, in the gut where it began to whelp. Heller grits his teeth and pushed it deeper, causing it scream gutturally.

Heller pulled it out and stabbed again in the same spot, going in much deeper and pulled it out along with pieces of intestines and meat. He drove it again into its thick throat, but the cultist managed to dodge it, swinging its tentacles forward in a counter attack, smashing powerfully into Heller's side.

The creature assaulted him continuously…swinging its massive limb and hitting him from side to side.

With a slither, the creature slid its tentacle and wrapped around Heller's wrist, and began flailing and hurling him around, crashing the Sergeant into the wall with its daemonic strength. The impact ripped a wound on Heller's scalp, causing him to drop the weapon. The cultists lunged itself towards its victim, its unnatural jaw snapped violently into Heller's throat.

An adrenaline surged into Heller, disregarding the pain altogether as his bare hands held the cultist's jaws, vainly struggling to push it back. The cultist in return, applied more pressure and bit into Heller's fingers…slowly advancing to his throat.

With a surge of strength, the cultist hacked and forced its jaws to Heller's larynx, puncturing teeth-holes his skin, causing Heller to bleed in anguish and horror.

It felt like a lifetime, and Heller could feel his throat being slowly ripped out by the cultist.

Suddenly, the entire cage trembled, accompanied by whirring noises building up to a steady hum.

As the cultist bit into Heller's throat deeper, barrels emerged from the corners of the cage… bursting into a fizzling amount plasma energy, striking and penetrating through the cultist's jerking torso, killing it instantly.

The jaw's grip loosened and the cultist slid onto the metal floor while Heller stared at his opponent with slight shock. The plasma guns, smoking slightly, halted and droned on lifelessly.

Heller stumbled forward with damaged hands clutching onto his punctured neck, gasping for breath, at the same time, muttering blessings to the Emperor that his life has been spared.

As he made his way to the unopened vault door, he again heard the slow build up of energy. He turned around and stared with horror, the barrels were directed to where he stood. He backed up slowly towards the vault door… knocking against it with his shoulder as hard as he could.

He gasped again for air, heart pumping faster as the hums reached a dangerously threatening level.

A bright surge of plasma flashed before him.

* * *

Seac'kre trembled as he removed his finger from the controller; there were no more life readings on the sensor. 

"I…it…it's done," Seac'kre said worriedly.

"Excellent," Koch nodded with a smile etched on his face, his eyes fixed onto the static-filled screen. _Sergeant Heller_, Koch referred to the list...another opponent has been effectively neutralized, but too bad it was not Calsus. "Perfectly executed...the temple is so preoccupied with your colleague's deaths they would not even bother investigating the real cause of Heller's death... not without live footages."

The slouching handler gulped, eyes staring meekly into Koch's, "A…and…T…the deal?" Seac'kre asked with slight remorse.

"Don't worry Seac'kre," Koch reassured, placing a hand on his shoulder, "…as long as you are able to continue to what I ask of you, be assured you will receive your rewards. And fear not, what you desire will benefit me just as much - you want Calsus dead, so would I."

Seac'kre's eyes lit up, "a..and…the women?"

Koch smiled again, "You want their warm bodies?"

Seac'kre nodded, licking his lips in lust.

"…and I want them demoralized," Koch whispered.


	15. Interlude III: Chase

Author's Preamble:

Slayeesh: Thank you for you review, it is always a pleasure to read reviews and thoughts in frankness. I will always endeavor to respond to any reservations, so please feel free to fire when there's any. In response, I do admit insights of the Praetorian regiment described through Calsus' POV is limited at best, but sources have indicated that, while not all - the dominant trait of Praetorians are that they are toughened in the streets and further bolstered by trainings and harsh discipline. Their appearance might resemble the Red Coats, but their circumstances are very different to say the least. However, if you have any further proofs that claim otherwise, I would be more than happy to declare that error…I can be reached through my email.

Master Of The Infernal Warp: Thank you for the review and the thought, I was considering this before… I'll bump this story to M when I receive at least 2 more complaints. Understand my appetite for more readers.

On another note, Tau is almost alien to me, and I was only able to grasp so much of their language and rankings. If anyone feel this chapter can be improved, and know how please contact me.

Enjoy!

* * *

**Interlude III – Chase**

Away from the smothering, burning Tau city…the squad of five fled towards the forest in a loose formation, disappearing into the tree lines as echoes of the Imperium's bombardment continued pounding in their eardrums.

The heart of a young and talented Commander Lightbringer sank with every booming thud of Whirlwind Missiles, gravely regretting his inept defensive decisions.

"Watch your flanks," the Tau Commander ordered fiercely to his cadre of veteran Fire Warriors, and the loyal fighters could not help, but to immediately register his order. They redoubled their focus and increased their pace, straining every ounce of their muscles to keep up with their commander… sweeping widely and desperately through the forest.

The slightly ignited jetpack lifted the compact, technologically superior exoskeleton, sheltering the alien Commander as he bounced and hovered several yards with every single step, stopping frequently to allow the XV22 Battlesuit to pick up hostile signatures, continued moving again once his squad came within distance.

_Space Marines, _the Commander reminded himself of the bio-engineered fighting machines of the Imperium, knowing well the stratagem of their fierce assaults. The amount of drop-pods, missiles and weapon thrown during the full-frontal assault indicated it was to be a total annihilation of his army, along with the innocents that aided and housed the reputed Tau Commander that killed a Space Marine's Chapter Master.

And their retaliation was merciless; no children were spared…no bystanders left alive.

He jumped a little higher and landed on a thick branch, and turned to look at the razing city, feeling betrayed…betrayed by his own incapacity…betrayed by the ideals that armed his fighting spirit.

_Could all this sacrifice be justified for the greater good?_ He found himself questioning the Tau's utilitarian beliefs again, or maybe he was too young to fully comprehend the vicious truth of sacrifice.

"O'Ahlvas," one of his guards called from below, "We have to keep moving."

The stoic mechanics of his mask gazed unmovingly in the same direction, "Forgive my weakness," he whispered, turning and resumed his escape.

They vigilantly kept their formation, disciplined and skillful, moving between trees under the dense canopy. The aerial-covered escape would lead them closer to the Southern fringe, linking to another battalion where they would regroup and launch a counter-offensive.

The Space Marines was not about to let this happen.

Two dozens Space Marine scouts, draped in a camouflage of heavy leafs and bushes, armed with sniper rifles had already infiltrated and surrounded the perimeter prior to the invasion, entrenching all possible escape routes. Their main objective, no less, was to kill the crafty, astute Commander.

A hidden listening post caught their trail, motioning the snipers to move into their choke points.

"Gold element is in position, I have the target in sight," a Scout reported, his eyes peered through the scope of an Etern rifle - a standard, long-range slug-throwing weapon.

The opposite end crackled in response.

"Roger that, I'm taking the shot," he aimed towards one of the Commander's veteran fire warriors, and pulled the trigger. The bullet exploded out of its chamber and whirred towards the alien's head, smashing through the helmet and activating the trigger plates, punching, also, through the head and killing him instantly.

The helmet processing unit managed to assess the damage-on-impact, immediately calculating the trajectory and speed, locating the origins and location whence the bullet was fired from. The information was then relayed through the team's IST system (Intra-squad-tactical) system.

The fire warriors advanced targeting systems turned to a status of red, immediately sending them for cover. Commander Lightbringer, however, followed the targeting retinue, and the 8-barreled burst cannon armed to the Commander's right limb began to rotate…heating up and spewing a heavy-barrage of plasma towards their attacker. The stream of energy traveled over 500 yards, ripping through the Scout's torso like paper, cutting him in two and set the dry leafs around him blazing.

"Sniper fire!" the Commander shouted to his guards, "Engage Ranged-Counter maneuver!"

The jet-pack whirred ferociously, lifting the heavily armed suit into the air below the canopies. A drone detached from compartments…buzzing to life and hovered closely to the commander.

The Commander's aerial position drew more fire from his assailants, high-caliber bullets exploded, ringing the forest in a maddening flavor of combat. The hail of bullets sliced through the air, but harmlessly disintegrated upon impacting the sphere of force field surrounding the Commander generated by the drone.

The Commander sweated slightly in the heat of battle, his focus intense… and his desire for vengeance deadlier.

The XV22 battlesuit jumped from branch to branch, constantly moving while striking at every waking opportunity…he drew a maddening rate of fire from the elusive foes while his fire-warriors rapidly deployed to the enemies' location. Armed to the teeth, the flying arsenal unleashed every armament at disposal… salvo of missiles propelled, homed and smashed the elites of the Imperium to bits, energies split the air, unleashed to decapitate his foes.

The forest immediately turned into a roaring battlefield.

The Commander's force field took more damage, and the energy gauged dropped considerably, prompting the Commander to back away from the field of fire to recharge and to engage them in different tactics.

Only a handful of snipers remained, but they were persistent, picking up their weapons and pursued the Commander…their hunting instinct kicked in to finish the hunt.

Bad judgment.

The veteran fire-warriors were already spread out to three tactical points on the Commander's orders, waiting until the snipers ventured into the killing zone. They rose from cover and took aim, their pulse-rifles roared, and rounds after rounds poured and penetrated through the Scouts' shallow armor…burning their faces and killing them immediately.

As the remaining Scout fall on the bed of leafs lifeless, one of the veterans declared victory, "we have delivered the killing blow, Shas'O',"

"Good work," the commander responded stoically, his mind wandered to his fallen comrade. "Squad regroup! Our objective lies ahead."

As they made their way to the rendezvous point, the dense, forest canopy began to ruffle wildly like a hailing storm – the battle was far from over.

XV22 switched to high alert, with the sensory array indicated multiple enemies were closing in. But they were nowhere to be seen, and the red dots on his tactical screen indicated they already had surrounded the commander.

"Assault Marines!!!" Commander Lightbringer realized, they were to attack from above. The surface of the iridium armor produced a clicking sound; his arm compartment produced an odd looking device.

With a deafening boom, the bolter-pistol armed Marines smashed down from the canopy, their jet-packs flaring in unison…descending at a fearsome speed while unclipping a torrent of .75 calibre rocket propelled rounds upon their target.

Commander Lightbringer, with the aid of his jet-pack, agilely back flipped away from the exploding field of fire, simultaneously hurling the strange device to the location where his enemies were about to descend.

"Die, alien scum!" a single Marine yelled, towering the Commander by two heads as they landed, the motorized teeth of their chainsword whirred menacingly.

As they advanced forward, they triggered the device set by the Commander and an odd sludge of energy exploded from the jittering case, ensnaring all of the Space Marines' limbs, trapping their movements and was rendered immobile. Dumbfounded and angry, they could only look helplessly as the Commander's stood in an aggressive stance, the flamethrower on his left arm began to stir and roared, intense jets of flames spewed to set them to a slow, agonizing roast under their resilient and strapping power armor.

More Assault Marines dropped from above the commander's comrades, surrounding and chewing through the surprised fire-warrior veterans with their mechanized close combat weapons. Outflanked, outnumbered and built much stronger, the fire-warriors failed utterly as the Astartes brutally tore through their armor and their bodies.

The life-signals of the three remaining Fire-warriors vanquished on the Commander's screen, turning and experienced a mortifying pang of defeat when he witnessed one of the Marines pulling a whirring chainsword out of his comrade's skull.

Tears leaked out from his eyes behind the machineries…his heart pounded in anger.

With a roar, he unleashed another furious burst of pulse energy towards the assailants, taking several down while the rest scrambled and jumped to the commander's location.

The Commander noted the enemy's rapid advance in a scuttled, pincer maneuver. Instinctively taking a step back, activated his jet-pack and flew away, leading them into an aerial chase.

The Astartes were skilled, but their speed and maneuverability could not match the alien's technology. Lightbringer spun and attacked while he flew, allowing the XV22 to navigate through the tide of trees and enemies as he fired upon his foes.

The dexterous display erupted into a frenzying dogfight… the Commander waded through the forest while continually cutting down the Space Marines while his shield continued taking damages from their explosive-rounds.

The Space Marines' number lessened, but they were beginning to organize themselves more efficiently. The sergeant of the attacking squad barked orders as they continued predicting the Alien's movements, moving to locations to funnel him into a decisive blow.

The dogfight soon became more chaotic and uncontrolled, raging on for another 40 seconds when there were only three Space Marines left. Pushing him to a precise location, the sergeant sprung from above and plunged directly into the Tau, bringing him down and crashing into a heavy bed of leafs.

For Lightbringer, there seemed to a short pause of silence as he lay on the ground in exhaustion, paying attention to little else except the slow dance of raining yellow leafs.

"Arrrgggg!!" the bald sergeant roared, breaking Lightbringer's daze with his pulsating Powerfists raised, ready to shatter through the XV22 Iridium's armor.

Instinctively, the Commander delivered the barrels of his burst cannon into the sergeant's naked jaw, and the blow was enough to throw the Imperium foe off his chest, allowing him to set his jet-pack and roam towards the open air again.

The sergeant spat some blood and felt his jaws slightly dislocated, his hand moved to adjust it back forcefully. He waved his bolt-pistol towards the Commander's jet-pack and unleashed several more rounds to little effect…

…_Click. _

_The shadow, dressed in a shade of grey, watched on from a far distance, placed and bolted a shell into the rifle's chamber. The Vindicare assassin's left leg rested on a wooden stump while the muscled arms held the Exitus close to the visor, calmly trailing the aerial target through the scope. The opening would come soon, both sides are tiring...and Valaruz 18th would wait a little longer.  
_

The Commander struggled, as the remaining Marines were beginning to fight unpredictably dangerous…reckless as they attempt to drag him down with brute strength, swinging their chainsword around as they missed.

Lightbringer equally, grew more anxious and tired as he began lose his concentration. His rounds missed and shot in a wide arc, burning into trees and dead logs

The sergeant's jet-packed roared fiercely, blowing leafs away like a howling tempest while he makes a fearsome charged towards his foe.

The Tau Commander, at the very last minute, turned and successfully evaded the sergeant by a hair's breadth, only to discover another Marine was rushing towards his direction with chainsword raised high. He swung his burst cannon around and pointed it between the assailant's neck, unleashing a flurry of energy and sliced through the weak point of the armor, severing and lobbed off the head as the body swirled forward and crashed into the ground.

He immediately found his next target, locking on to the Marine as he released two rounds of homing rockets. It whizzed through the air, leaving a trail of smoke as it closed in, blowing up the airborne target into parts with a deafening boom.

He wheezed and panted, perspiring as his vision began to blur… it was too difficult to fathom, but the battle was almost over…there was one more left to deal with…

…_and the assassin pulled the trigger._

_Boom, _the muffled explosion of the shot could be heard, even from 2000 yards away as the shield-breaker round propelled towards the target…the tip of the exotic shell sparked with a striking energy, tearing through the Commander's stubborn force field and punched through the thick Iridium armor, into the head.

Lightbringer's body jerked slightly…

…the sergeant looked with disbelief, as the alien stopped moving, the engines of the alien's jet-pack began to die off.

…Lightbringer felt freedom…

xxx

The sergeant walked closer towards the carcass, weary of the battle and the piling corpses. The victory was too costly without yield…slightly bitter that it was not he who killed the formidable foe. He moved closer and wrapped his powerfist around the Tau's head, ripping off the helm forcefully and detaching it from the rest of the suit. Electric sparked and naked wires dangled from the mangled edges, revealing the being of grayish blue complexion… its skin leathery and tough. Blood of a cyan hue leaked from the back of his head where the bullet wound was.

Its narrow slitting eyes gaped wide open…shocked, with a stream of drying tears running down his cheek.

The sergeant took a deep breath, and reported back to his captain with little enthusiasm, confirming the target's identity.

As he finished reporting, he looked to his fallen brothers and switched the frequency of his vox cast.

"I believe this is your doing…Valaruz 18th?" he asked rhetorically with resentment.

"Yes, then the mission is done," the assassin replied coldly, "…despite the cost."

The sergeant clenched his teeth together angrily, "INDEED," he breathed out dangerously, "…and it was at a cost that earned no glory, assassin."

"Sergeant," the assassin responded threateningly, unperturbed by the Marine, "…discard your sanctimonious attitude, it was your blind zealousness that brought upon this fate…when your company chose to ignore counsel and act based on irrational, vengeful whims,

…and let this be a lesson learnt, when I tell you and your men to stay out of my way…you stay out of my way."

The sergeants clutched his fists together…


	16. Chapter 13: Escalation

Author's preamble: Short chapter- an insight into the Jopall world, a little more elaborate and made-up stuff from canon… just to make it more interesting. Hope you enjoy it.

If there's anything you don't understand, or feel the explanations are out of context, please let me know.

Again, thank you my kind readers for keeping up.

Edit: See footnote for changes.

* * *

**XIII – Escalation**

"_This is unacceptable… despite the Temples' glory, reverence, and their luminance under the graces of the High Lords, this is unacceptable. No military arm should be as free and independent from the Ordo Hereticus' administration. No organizations should be allowed to harbor daemons without the Inquisition's supervision. No organizations should be allowed barred doors, vaults of secret and assassins we know not names or identity of. This is unacceptable."_

_Inquisitive Auditor, Inquisitor Jurelaz Iban. _

Her white coat seemed a little too large, draping loosely over her supple shoulders down to the knees.

A strand of brunette hair dangled over her eyebrows as she leaned closer, her hand pressed and felt Koch's throat, her sweet scent snaking playfully into her patient's nostrils.

"Everything seems to be in order," she breathed, "It is rare to have someone unscathed after such an encounter," she tugged the collar of her shirt tiredly, rubbing the muscles around the back of her lithe neck.

"It wouldn't be a stretch to imagine…" Koch replied simply, watching her ample legs as she walked to the other side of the examination room.

"Lieutenant Koch Dessler," she repeated to herself, fixing her frameless glasses as she entered his medical information onto her data slate, "No missing limbs nor any form of wounds…you're generally healthy and display no preliminary trace of any viral infections, much luckier than most combatants I've seen."

Koch cleared his throat, scoffing and mildly insulted at her choice of words – 'luckier'.

"…although there is a slight bloodshot in your eyes that should be diagnosed." She placed the slate down and reached for a small torch light in the pocket, pursing her thin lips "Do you feel any sort of irritation?" she stepped closer and her fingers stretched his eyelids to an open, studying closer.

"I believe I'm Xerophtalmic," Koch replied, allowing the doctor to diagnose his eyes, "Conjunctivitis by Vitamin A deficiencies, it is widely inherent for many Jopallis."

"Inherent vitamin A deficiencies..." she echoed, standing back and jabbed her hands into her hips "Hmm…I have to admit I don't know much about Jopall. Considering there hasn't been any that made it out alive," she said with a sharp, cold candor.

"Of course," Koch reflected thoughtfully, "Have you have been working here for a long time?"

"20, 21 months perhaps?" she shrugged, sighing with a trail of weariness, pausing slightly, "I take it that it happens quite often?" she looked towards Koch, "The eye I mean."

"Considerably," Koch nodded, "Suffice to say, the symptoms are as the same as of infections through viruses or bacterium, and there isn't much Vitamin A supplements could do to immunize patients against this particular conjunctivitic condition."

"How peculiar," the young doctor raised an eyebrow, "Has the Jopalli Health Commission not taken any preventive measures? Xerophtalmic has a running risk of attaining night blindness…"

"Yes, yes…" Koch interrupted impatiently with an undertone of frustration, "…escalating to conjunctival xerosis, corneal xerosis and keratomalacia. The Xerophtalmic condition is well recorded, doctor, considering the immense amount of infantry defects caused by prolonged, untreated conjunctivitis."

"I'm sorry," the doctor squinted her eyes, "I don't think it makes sense…if the casualties are that appalling, why hasn't anything been done yet?"

"Ah, of course," Koch took a deep breath. "Wait, I'm sorry… I did not quite get your name the first time, doctor."

"Dr. Ally Damien," she said curtly.

"Dr. Ally," Koch repeated, "There are 3 million Imperial worlds and counting in this universe, with over 2.6 million different regimental units under the helm of different governance, policies and histories. Jopall… happens to fall under a bizarrely, puzzling economy, which history, I won't explain in depth because of its sheer complexity. In précis, if you find yourself conceived as a Jopalli, be rest assured that you have already been incurred a massive debt to the government."

"A debt?" she narrowed her eyes.

"Birth care, roads, food and public amenities…consider it a different form of tax to compensate a conglomerate that has kindly decided to relieve the Jopall government from a certain financial crisis, at a certain point of time in Jopall history.

Nevertheless, according to the Jopalli Labor Laws…the debt can only begin to be repaid once children reaches the legal working age, which would be 16 Terran lifeyears - the average wage earner would find their debts be fully repaid in an approximate span of 33 years. Hence, this environment would encourage Jopallis to be quite enterprising, and one widely accepted method of hastening the repayment would be, of course, to be in service of the Imperium Army that is constantly in dire need for soldiers, where the Jopall Indentured Squadrons are widely known reward members who display ingenuity and individualism. "

"I'm sorry…I'm sorry," Dr. Ally stopped Koch apologetically, "Unless I'm missing something, how is this related to the inactions of the Health Commission?"

"I will come to that in time," Koch acknowledged patiently, "In a recent study, it is discovered that over 46 per cent of the Jopalli population suffers from Hynoglyia – an infestation of viral parasites that is passable from partner to partner and parent to child, transmittable through blood, seminal fluids or breast milk. The agent, its origins still untraceable, has only recently been discovered as the cause for the Vitamin A deficiencies in men and animals alike."

Dr. Ally nodded, "So I would assume Hynogylic parasites lives to feed on the host's retinol?" she picked up the data slate and keyed in more information.

"Yes, and being highly transmittable in nature, it has no less been officially confirmed as a pandemic in Jopall 20 years ago. The still recovering economy has yet to allocate any sort of budget for an extensive bio-research, to create mass-producible vaccines or cure that would completely remove the Hynogylic parasites." Koch continued, "Of course... albeit Hynoglyia being a pandemic, it isn't terminal, although there are known critical conditions, but it is mostly for the case of the older population of the median age of 37.

Other than that, the parasites are observed to reproduce at a very slow rate in small amounts, with lifespan capable of fluctuating between 13 days to 89 days. A common, cheap prevention to reduce the chances of contracting medical conditions relational to Vitamin A deficiencies is to simply to have more Vitamin A intake.

The only proven treatment so far, although inefficient and extremely costly, is through a complete blood transfusion and vessel cleaning…even that, it is still an illegal practice and has not been endorsed by the Health Commission."

"Hmm…I think I see where this is going," Dr. Ally crossed her arms.

"Indeed, and thus – the ironic predicament. People barely have any disposable income to spend on the treatments; likewise, the government does not believe that 300,000 Imperial Marks is worth spending to cure every infected soldier…despite their need for them." Koch sighed, pausing awhile…his gaze met Dr. Ally's.

"And most interestingly," Koch lowered his voice to a near whisper, "23 per cent of the Jopall Indentured Squadrons are known to be infected, where a study has identified this ...'unfortunate' group... to outperform much more than their uninfected counterparts, in efficiency and effectiveness…"

"Incentives...!" she gasped, realizing what it all meant "You don't mean…?"

Koch shook his head amusedly, "Hmmm, I wouldn't go as far as calling all this a conspiracy theory, yet... but to think if Hynoglyia innately encourages efficiency…then it would not be a stretch to imagine the government sees this as a value and a method to encourage productivity from young, desperate soldiers."

"To take advantage of young men's desperation for treatment...enterprising indeed," she rubbed her chin thoughtfully, slightly amazed and shocked with their cleverness, "But well, as a doctor, this is beyond believe." She walked to her bench and put on a set of gloves, along with a bottle of antiseptic, cottons and a blood drawing device.

Koch raised an eyebrow, slightly surprised when she asked him to stretch his arm out, "I would have a sample of your blood for an extensive analysis in the labs, and I would certainly contact the Jopall Health Commission and acquire as much of their research journals as possible. Its unthinkable that such diseases are left to run rampant and unchecked to the point of abuse..."

There was a silence as Dr. Ally began drawing his blood, while Koch began shifting around uncomfortably

"Are you okay?" she noticed Koch's sudden change of mood with a slight, puzzled smile, causing him chuckle a little.

"I'm sorry…it's just I'm not used to…hmm…" Koch rubbed the back of his thumb against his forehead. "…I can't think of the right word."

She continued smiling and waiting, raising an eyebrow.

"'Professional dedication'," he shifted his body slightly, "It's a good feeling, especially when one is raised from a pragmatic world, ever so calculative and practical with nothing ever comes without an expectant return of equivalent trade."

She flashed a silly grin, sporting dimples on her cheek and looked down to concentrate on drawing Koch's blood, "Well, it is still my job, you know? If they are to select you as the next Vindicare, they would want to know all of your medical history."

"Of that I have no doubt," Koch reflected her beam.

She finished drawing his blood and returned to the bench, removing the vial and replaced it a device. She picked up and took some notes on her data slate, when suddenly… she lost her cheer, coughing a little in an awkward manner.

"What's wrong?" Koch asked.

"Oh…nothing…" she shook her head.

"Is there something I should know?" Koch insisted, "It is about my condition?"

"No…no…not at all, the temple receives its share of medicines, bionics, implants and granted we are with the Imperium's finest equipments and medical labs, with top researchers working around the clock." She flustered, "Hynoglyia would be the least of your problem."

Koch waited for her to continue, receiving only a sad glance from Dr. Ally.

"I don't want to squander your courage or hope…it's just that, for the duration I've been here, no one has yet to make it through the trial..." She took a deep breath.

Koch went silent, "And what of their fate?"

She sighed, "...killed…" she swallowed hard, "…it's an insanely tough selection process, to be honest, I can hardly stomach it. This place…"

"Why do you stay then?"

She closed her eyes…

"I'm sorry, I've overstepped myself…" she turned away and tore a printed piece of paper from the printing machine.

"I'm sorry…" she apologized again in a miserable tone, "…I'm sorry if I've led you to believe there's any hope through our medical discussions…because I am, in fact, not authorized to treat any of your conditions just yet…not now, not for anyone. They would review your medical history and study how well you fare from the fight. Those who made it through would get their health fully reconditioned, and if you are below their expectations, they would simply kill you."

Koch just looked at her calmly.

"I...I...I'm not saying that they would kill you now," she stammered slightly, "its just that...they...they are just so unpredictable..."

She pointed out to a chamber shakily, "See that room there?", visible through a large window pane, where two dozen rows of blood tainted reclining chairs fixed to the ground, equipped with chains and leather straps…each connected to an array of medical apparatus and screens. Stationary mechanical arms with jagged needles and hooks hung from the ceiling. "Soon... the remaining survivors would be asked to lie down in the chairs for a full vital scan…

You would be strapped and chained, still and unmoving…and the priest," she gulped, "…The High Priest would march through the door and scan every soldier in full detail…and when he is done…he would pass his judgment where you lie."

Both of them stared into at each other's eyes in an awkward silence, before she hesitantly exited the room. At the door, she turned her head slightly, and said... "You're about to enter the second stage of the test, Koch...and the test has only just begun."

* * *

_ Edited: Thanks to Slaashyish for his immaculate attention to detail, 'quid' changed to 'Imperial Marks'. The same thought nagged at the back of my head when I was trying to figure out a proper term... but totally disregarded it as I was rewriting the Jopalli slightly complicating situation. Hence, I concluded that 'Credits' lack grandeur and sounds overly Star Wars, so I choose something rather medieval...with class. Hope you like the term better._


	17. Chapter 14: Beast

Author's Preamble: Wooo, its been awhile! Well, I'm now a working member of my community…a telemarketer! A telemarketer! Lousy job, but it pays the bills… but nothing can be compared to writing…its definitely much more intrinsically rewarding. A piece of advice, always seek to do something that you enjoy.

As per usual, R&R&Enjoy.

* * *

**XIV – Beast**

"Ugh…ugh…ugh…" Calsus entire body jerked and twitched, biting and suppressing the excruciating pain from his damaged hands. Joints and bones stuck out of the bloody wound as his eyes gaped wide open, staring into the flickering, circular florescent lights in a cruel, painful jitter. He could hear the beat of his own heart, smell the invisible gruel of sterile antiseptic and decaying flesh within the dull-painted, poorly soundproofed walls.

"Ann….annnn…." he stammered, breathing hard … his semi-naked body tied down to the last finger, drenched in semi-dried blood and mixed with a pool of cold sweat in the cold, chilly operating theater. He struggled increasingly to break free from his bonds, realizing what his surgeon was about to do to him, "An…an…a..Anesthesia..." He gurgled, fear gripped to his very veins as he stared into the little device resting in the surgeon's grasp.

"I'm sorry Lance Corporal," the surgeon said jadedly through his surgical mask, his cold, eyes reflected his empty, emotionless shell. With a flick of his thumb, he activated his handheld, mini saw, "I'm under orders not to induce analgesia."

"Fuck you…" Calsus breathed harder, his heart raced faster…the electrocardiogram spiked to a rate of 139 per second, the beeps increased to a frantic pace as the whirring saw drew closer, "…fuck you!" he spat at the surgeon before gritting his teeth together disbelievingly, "FUCKING GIVE ME ANESTHESIA!!!"

The surgeon never responded, stoically reaching closer…Calsus's body instinctively stiffen and wrestled violently against his leathery bonds.

The saw spun as it made contact with the protruding bone, Calsus' body jerked more violently as the jagged teeth clawed its way into the hardened calcium, accompanied with incessant clinks and wails of anguish. The surgeon continued to dig into the surrounding flesh, splattering blood onto his clothes.

"AGGHHHHHH!!!!" his horrifying scream pierced even the walls… his back arched and strained, rattling the operating table in a futile attempt to break free.

_Zssss..._the saw whirred and continued its butcher, skimming and digging across the wound to remove and clean out excessive flesh and nerves, spraying a thick red of meat into its surrounding… the pain reached to a sickening apex.

Every second past felt like an hour, and the surgeon continued his work dispassionately for 24 second, before stopping, switching it off and placed it into a tray nearby. The surgeon proceeded to pick up a wide, clamp like mechanical device, with hundreds of tiny, metal pincer needles sticking out deep in the mouth.

He clamped the heavy device onto Calsus's damaged hand and activated the pincers. In unison, they mechanically moved and twitched frenetically in intelligence, moving in different directions and made clicking noises as they searched for their respective targets. The pincers stopped abruptly as the tip lit up with a hot ember glow, pausing several seconds before they struck at Calsus nerves with quick, serpent-like precision.

The micro-sized pincers worked savagely in frenzy, snipping, pulling and burning every single bleeding nerve to a close. All the more, Calsus's mouth gaped wide open and choked out an even viler, guttural scream, "STOOOOOOPPPPPP!!!" Calsus released a wail from the depth of his lungs. Incoherent words trailed throughout the torture…feeling as though his very hands were being chopped into fine pieces.

The horror stopped after 30 seconds when the surgeon halted the device. But he was not yet done when his bony hands reached for a pair of tweezers, picked up a piece of cotton, soaked it in a form of alcoholic disinfectant and drenched the reddish wound, the alcohol burned, twisted and squeezed his flesh like an iron grip.

It was the culmination of torture, the zenith of pain, the edge of his threshold… and instead of giving up his consciousness, a build up of animalistic adrenaline surged through Calsus body, flushing out every ounce of control and unbarring any sense of restraint. His muscles tightened, blood thundered to his left forearm…and with every strength available in his body, he snapped off from his bonds and knocked his frail, unsuspecting tormentor back, hurling him crashing and tripping over the nearby trolley.

The entire room echoed with a chaotic clamor with needles, scalpels, pans and trays sprawled across the tiled floor. The bawl, as the surgeon was about to realize, was as unnerving as the heavy huff from the groaning, enraged beast. He broke free from the remnants of the worn, weathered straps…and crawled out of his bed of a prison.

Sweating and muffling his own screams, he looked to his damaged hands, and tried to move the fingers that were no longer there, sending him another wave of pain. His head dizzied, and his face scrunched with deep agony, there was so much a single man could take.

_And how much more can he take?_

Calsus' eyes darted the stunned doctor that was slowly crawling backwards in fear. It was murderous intention that needed no warning.

It was 5 second…10 second, as the Calsus pained expression slowly transformed into scowl, his nostrils flared and the creature seemed to have been replaced entirely. His lips were carved like hunter's blade, his blood boiling with a vengeful lust. He clumsily picked himself up, and rose like an infernal tower shadowing the light, a shade that drew a cloud of death over the fearful surgeon.

Calsus quickened his pace to a sprint as the surgeon backed away further towards the exit, turning and sweeping the floor in fear of retribution. Calsus roared as he leapt, pouncing on the back of the frail victim, and pinned him down as his right hand grabbed a fistful of the surgeon's hair, pulling him back until he exclaimed a groan.

Calsus wanted to curse, scream into his ears, to swear with every word at his disposal… but nothing came as soon as his eyes caught a glimpse of it – the ironic, fitting device of vengeance, the mini-motorized saw. His left damaged hand immediately grabbed it allowed to vibrate in his palms.

"Do…don't do it…" the surgeon pleaded.

Calsus gritted his teeth, his urge for revenge hung in balance.

"Don't throw your life away…" he said in a calmer tone, his hands reaching his pocket.

Calsus swallowed, the pain was still stinging. Not noticing what the surgeon was about to do.

Then suddenly, a seemingly, triumphant smile etched over the surgeon's lips accompanied by a blaring siren that erupted throughout the small operation theater, startling the beast as he looked everywhere.

"Son of a bitch!" Calsus screamed, realizing the betrayal while all trace of mercy vanished from his eyes, shadowed by a glint that cared little for consequences; a beckoning madness that can only be remedied by bloody vengeance. He looked into the snide, agonizing eyes of the surgeon, and blindly drove the ferocious saw through the surgeon's surgical mask and into the upper gums, not allowing anymore words to pass through the lips.

A hellish scream broke loose, with little remorse on Calsus part to sate his reckless thirst… and with the added struggle of the surgeon, the saw butchered its victim where the struggle led. Blood, flesh and chipped tooth particles rained out into the air and down the throat in a messy, gruesome butcher.

Wrestling to keep his victim down, a sudden movement caught Calsus from the corner of the eyes as he picked up the scalpel and hurled towards the nearest door, the surgical knife sliced through the air and accurately plunged into the neck of the first sentry that walked in.

At that very moment of time, his soldiering trainings and survival instinct kicked in…knowing that it was going to be an arduous, uphill battle if he were to survive this ordeal. Naturally, with a heave, he stood and lifted the surgeon along, just before a torrent of lasrounds rained into his human shield, tearing up the skinny body with the detached gums crawling out from his feeble, scrunching face…signifying a grisly end to his existence.

Calsus' vision blurred, his heart pulsed, and with all his might he lifted the dead body higher and rushed into his new attackers, knocking several back as he let the body go. His free hand reached for the throat of the next sentry standing.

His other arm flailed and smashed into the face of the sentry, stunning him as his hand reached into laspistol holster, removed the weapon and blowing out the brains of the next threatening attacker.

He swung the pistol around, roaring as he fired blindly into his attackers. Blackish burnt smell and helpless, stifling screams wafted as they lie on the ground incapacitated or dead… he did not care as he walked out the corridor that was flashing in a hue of red, filled with the screeching blare of the siren.

Calsus's eyes burned with bestial ferocity as he picked up a lasrifle along the way, tugged a new laspistol into his pants while instinctively took a right and sped forward with a low crouch behind a wall at the next corner. His ears picking up the rapid trample of the sentries' boots heading towards his direction.

He reversed his rifle, listened and timed as he smashed the butt into the first incoming sentry's chin, cracking the jaw and knocking him over, He swung the weapon around and fired into the crowd, fearless as he engaged and sucked the sentries into his own pace. He pulled out the pistol with his damaged hands, with the rifle in another, he strolled down the path and fired at whatever that moves like rolling barrel of wild fireworks.

Calsus became bolder with every falling body, quickly advancing further the corridors and taking cover in defensive positions, not allowing his pursuers to reorganize themselves and catching him stationary.

As he moved down several more corridors he stacked his shoulders with several more spares… chucking spent rifles aside and swinging fresh ones into action quicker when his path were beginning to thicken with more cautious sentries.

And it soon became too heated and difficult, sentries had now pinned him down from both ends of the corridor. Yet Calsus fought harder still and clinging to his miserable life between two pillars, blasting at his enemies and keeping them at bay.

It lasted a full minute before the firings and alarm siren stopped abruptly, followed by a familiar wail…

"WHAT IN THE EMPEROR'S NAME IS GOING ON!?" Major-Commissar Jh'nerolaz's voiced shrieked, while Calsus stuck his back to the wall, refusing to move out into plain sight.

"DAMNIT LANCE CORPORAL! YOU THROW YOUR WEAPONS ON THE GROUND AND SURRENDER!" she continued in frustration.

His chest heaved, breathing hard as sweat trickled down his body…biting his bottom lip in desperation as mutters and whispers floated outside.

"…I DON'T CARE!" the Major yelled to one of the sentries, "GET AN INCENDIARY GRENADE AND BURN THAT BLIGHT OUT OF HIS HOLE!"

Calsus' heart beat slowly, his palms trickled cold sweat, shivering… and knew that his end was imminent as boots clacked noisily. In his head, he listened and pictured what they were doing…clearing spaces, getting into firing positions and having the best grenade thrower up front, priming the grenade...the grenade was pulled back, and ready to be hurled…and the noises trailed off into total mute as he closed his eyes. The thought of a gruesome death overwhelmed all thoughts and senses…

Silence…

Silence…

Silence…

Silence…

Silence…

Calsus opened his eyes, and saw no grenades…he was still intact and there was complete silence.

He breathed even harder as he had an uncontrollable urge to take a peek outside, cautiously kneeling down and reached his gun out in both direc….

GRIP

A powerful, invisible force ripped the gun forcibly out of his hands and pulled his arms out into the open, at the same time, dragging and lifting his entire body up from the ground and smashing him into the opposite wall… invisible hands seemed to stretch and held down his arms across the concrete slab.

He could see the Major's ever menacing scowl, with a score of sentries holding up their rifles before her. Right beside her was a slender lady, robed, with a metal coif covering her eyes and hair…revealing only her lips…her hands held up as she were summoning an invisible force.

_Psykers,_Calsus groaned as his body was strained even more, his face pressed deeper into the wall. With his head facing to the right, he managed catching only a small glimpse of a sentries and the Major scuttling to his position, before a powerful surge of electric disabled Calsus' consciousness and plunged him into darkness.

* * *

An electrical shock brought Calsus to a violent, rude awakening… the muscles in his body rattled and found themselves yet again in binds, but it was of metal…cold, hard and even more cruelly unnerving. Frustrated… desperate, Calsus struggled yet once again to break free from his cage in futility… sitting before a shadowy form before a bright stream of light. 

He renewed his efforts into breaking out of the gaunt chair, screaming and shaking his cage to no avail.

Would he be executed? Would he be tortured?

With wires and medical apparatuses attached, the frail, wizened figure looked on patiently until Calsus fully realized that there was not anything else he could do. Calsus' body soon wore itself, but remained rigid as his eyes guiltily averted gazing into the man, but could not as his head was held still by fixtures.

"Good evening, Lance Corporal," the voice spoke slowly, deep and worldly, echoed only by a fierce, defensive gaze by Calsus, his vision slowly adjusting to the lighting "You have stirred quite a bit of unrest in the temple."

Calsus breathed harder, the vision became more familiar – the cold, hard expression, the morbid, morose mood…the grey hair…and the constant tweak of the bionic eye.

The cold-hearted judge, the enigmatic priest, the fearsome executioner.

"Such… disobedience is most unwelcomed …" he continued, moving forward and looked down onto Calsus', now bandaged, damaged palm, "Lawlessness that disrupts peace, its returns are ample only through punishments..." The priest pressed his wound hard, receiving a muffled groan.

"…tell me, Lance Corporal…" the priest tightened his grip, "…why do you still cling onto your petty life?"

Calsus gritted his teeth and stopped himself from screaming, he was not thinking of anything else other that his end. The torrent of pain he had to endure before his life slips away without a trace. A single tear leaked out of his eye...until the priest released his clutch…allowing Calsus to pant and breath again.

The priest studied Calsus for another unsettling minute, and so was Calsus waiting for the next electrical shock, a saw, a gun pointed to his head. But instead, the priest merely backed off, turned and walked away from his line of sight.

Calsus continued breathing.

* * *

The priest walked at his own pace, leaving Calsus in his paranoid state while ignoring the gaze of several more chained candidates. He continued along the chamber and finally stood next to another figure, masked and fully robed in black, ominous clothing. 

"Have you decided, your Grace?" the male voice whispered as softly as he could.

The priest merely nodded.

"Very well," the man bowed slightly as the Priest exited the room.

The mysterious man now cleared his throat, adjusted his gloves and turned to face to address the rest of the room…where the heavy chairs held the thirteen remaining, frightened survivors.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, good evening," he started somberly, "These few days have been most trying as I can imagine, I congratulate your resilience for maintaining your duties and faith…sons and daughters of the Emperor.

You have been graced by Father Horatius, High Priest of the Vindicare Temple of the Valaruz sector," he continued as he motioned the door where the Priest had exited, "…and know that he and you… now stand together at a crossroad." His voice became more enthralling, captivating…

Long have the temple given birth to aspiring Assassins… metamorphosing mere mortals into artists of Death, into painters of victory. They are engineered and elevated into the most skillful of marksman… whilst their natural passion for the Vindicare's duties as fiery as the blinding sun…" he paused, "But none by far, would match the caliber of our next generation… the Vindicare reborn.

The children that lay before me right now, represents the finest the Imperium has ever produced…young, gifted and highly decorated… rough, unpolished diamonds that would bring tears of pride to our Holy Savior.

Know and be reminded that our homes are endangered by aliens, our souls are vulnerable to demons… and even as I speak, foes roam freely within out very courtyards on the Holy grounds of Terra, they are ever more elusive, ever more so dangerous and cunning. Their corruption now spreads like a plague throughout systems, their presence even more difficult to uproot, constantly sowing confusion and litanies of lies to our brethrens.

We now stand on the brink of change, children of the Emperor, and amongst thirteen of you, one will shine the brightest…and only one of you will deliver the ultimate repentance to the lost. To bear the holy gift of the Exitus…

All of you have been most fortunate to be part of a great design… and I pray in our Emperor's name to ease the passing of those that has fulfilled their destiny…and to the remaining twelve that would guide the Temple in choosing his champion…"

Upon that line, several began to panic, realizing the euphemism, the thinly disguised verdict of a death sentence…they began to whimper…breathing hard and whispered the Emperor's name.

"To the lives lost...your sacrifices have not been for naught, and your spirits will fuel the fighting memories of victories and honor. May the Emperor watch over your souls…" the mysterious hooded man ended his prayer, and held his head down.

The room vibrated softly, and from the ceiling a mechanical arm unfolded itself and unhooked a long, cruel spike. It began moving across the room along the railings in search for its first victim, arriving to a male candidate that was missing his left forearm…

…and all Calsus could hear was a gurgling scream.


	18. Chapter 15: Seconds

XV – Seconds

Then there was a tiny hole, fitted with a rusty metal grate in the middle of the chamber, slightly depressed from the slightly sloping surface to funnel liquid waste into the complex sewerage system below the Vindicare Temple.

_His wounds tightened, his skin pale and ashen…his lips trembled, and he could do was wait while the spiked mechanical arm makes it way horizontally toward where he is… staking its helpless victim where they lie…one after another._

Comfort, needless to say, was far from the intention of creators of the badly postured, iron-cast chairs. Holes were made at the bottom of the seats, where liquid were allowed passage to the ground, trickling slowly down the inner tubes and over the dirty, unwashed floors.

_...her mind numbed, and like others, too terrified to utter mercy, or to squirm or struggle…She could feel the bloodied spike looming over her head like a bloodthirsty, winged demon, sending a chill down her spine when a single drop of blood dripped onto her scalp and trickled past her blank, green eyes …_

Sickeningly slow seconds have gone by, and the room was soon thickened with the scent of coppery blood… amber red liquid danced and graced the floor, different streams swirled and joined together from all sides and gathered into a pool…flowing down and into the drainage through the tiny hole.

…_his triumphant smile faded with every victim it didn't claim, etching a blank, jaded expression upon his face, wiping the glint off his expectant, bloodshot eyes._

The mechanical arm, the cruel spike that was soaked in blood, wriggled and jittered in old age, whirring into a stop.

Finally… its duty was done.

"…and your destinies, children of the emperor," the preacher rose his hooded head while the mechanical arm folded and retired into the ceiling. He rubbed his finger tips together through the velvety gloves, "…has been revealed….

Father Horatius has spoken the Emperor's favor…" he gestured to what was left of the initial two thousand soldiers…to the limp, lifeless bodies of the dead, to the frightened, the unsuspecting…the victorious.

* * *

"You seem surprised Major," Father Horatius noted the Commissar's concern as both of them looked through the one-way mirror in the adjacent observatory chamber. 

"I would be lying if I say I wasn't," she exasperated, slightly overwhelmed, "It seems you already have something planned."

The priest did not respond, stretching the Commissar's mild frustration across nervous seconds.

"With all due respect, Father," she turned towards the detached Priest "Now would be a good time to share..."

"Everything is as it is, Major" the Priest interrupted, disarming the Commissar with a low growl, causing her to tighten her jaws in restraint.

The priest tilted his head sideways and studied the Commissar at the corner of his biological eye, before turning back, overlooking the remaining survivors in deep thought.

The Commissar let out an awkward cough and tried to keep her composure, four years in service and she still finds the Priest unpredictable and inexplicably unnerving. She can never be sure of the Priest's intentions, in spite of how hard she tries placing herself in his shoes.

_Nothing makes sense,_ she quietly reassessed her previous predictions as her palms began to sweat – most of them should not even be alive, she drew in a heavy breath as she tried untying the logical knots…_Regardless, _she thought as a chill ran down her skin, that this batch might finally shown promise of the next Valaruz.

"Trouble your mind no longer, Commissar," Father Horatius' observation immediately seized the Commissar's attention, "See to the remaining candidates, there is much to do…" he turned and walked out of the observatory…

The Commissar watched on as the Priest disappeared into the darkness of the corridor, and almost like a queue, a wailing cry reached over her like looming cloud...it was Calsus...screaming at the top of his lungs, screaming and refusing to toil any further in the sadistic game...refusing to accept his fate. The entire denizens of the chamber followed suit, engulfed by the cruel irony...breaking into sobs and cries.

Orderlies came through the door with moving caskets, whisking the dead bodies away one at the time, shaking further the survivors who have a view of the deceased.

The chains were releases and cuffs were opened one survivor at the time...

The medical apparatus surrounding Calsus beeped and clicked, injecting sedatives into his system...it took a moment before the beast calm himself to a slumber.

Kira, with tears drying on her cheeks, stood up steadily and passively nodded to the orderlies, indicating that she did not require any control. She looked around, and felt nothing...she saw the limp survivors in their weakened state, Vissa, Juydith...crying and mourning, and strangely, she could not feel the scorn she had from the day before. She looked around and saw Koch, he did not cry, nor was he shocked.

Koch merely stared ahead with a scowl.

* * *

The awareness of the number of survivors did not bring Koch much satisfaction, it ravaged his pride as he struggled to fully comprehend the implications of everything that had just happened. 

_9 survived…_his nose flared with frustration, the priest chose 9 out of the 13…the number was a little beyond his own estimations. For the imbeciles he perceived the rest to be, he had originally approximated that only two others would have performed.

Especially Calsus...when he went berserk and killed the guards..._ what does it all mean?Why was he spared?  
_

Was his performance only as good as the others? Are the others equally as competent? Was his efforts only perceived to be sub-par? On what basis did they judge the candidates by?

"Are you feeling alright?" Dr Ally expressed concern as she finished injecting the final of the prescribed substances into his body.

He looked towards her with a shroud of dread, causing her to blink uneasily. He had assumed from her warnings that the selection for the second stage would be strict and unforgiving…yet, so many had made it through… He despised being in situations he cannot foresee, he hated having flaws in his reasoning and assumptions…he disliked vague, misleading information.

"Are there usually that many that made it through?" Koch's face hardened as he posed the question from the edge of the bed.

"…I…I…don't…" she replied shakily, rather cowed by Koch's sudden change in cool and temper, taking a step back from his glare, "…I don't remember the exact figu…"

"How many?" Koch cut her off impatiently.

"…umm…umm," she closed her eyes and thought hard, "Three? Five?"

Koch studied as she counted names and kept fumbling her memory, she was beyond nervous…she was terrified.

"Four!" she spat the number out in triumph, "There were four! The highest candidate count by far that made it to the second stage…"

"And you've been here for approximately two years?" Koch continued probing, reducing her confidence yet again as she began counting again.

"Two years….that's twenty four months, and another three months," she muttered to herself, "Twenty seven months, yes…"

"And none of the previous contenders have been selected as the next Vindicare since you've been assigned?" Koch reflected her knowledge.

"No…" she gulped down her answer, biting her bottom lip whole…

Koch continued staring into her eyes for a brief second, before slowly turning away and shutting his eyes in frustration.

"Wha…what's the matter?" her hand reactively held close to her chest, taking a step closer towards the Lieutenant.

"…how long has it been since the last Vindicare was selected?" he massaged his nose bridge tiredly as he waited for an answer.

"…I…" she was taken aback, "…I…I… don't know…"

Koch returned his gaze towards the doctor, only to hear her whispering his name in sympathy.

"How was the last Vindicare selected?" he asked bluntly

It took awhile for the doctor to digest the question, but from the corner of Koch's eyes he could see that her mood was gradually losing its softness and concern until a point of silence.

"Who was the last Vindicare selected?" he asked again, noticing she was hesitating.

"…I can't tell you that…" she put it forward directly, causing Koch to look at her strangely.

"Why not?" Koch asked with a frown.

"…I'm not allowed to…" she swallowed.

"Is that to do with the Temple's disclosure policies?"

She nodded quickly.

"Doctor," Koch said, "the way I see it…there are only two places I could bring the information to. If I live, I would be part of the temple and I would be given the knowledge, if I don't, I'll take it to the grave anyways."

Dr. Ally crossed her arm, shivering slightly and looked away and began pacing towards the medical cabinet.

"And unless I've misjudged you," Koch's eyes trailed the doctor, "all you would be doing is upholding of the temple's wanton secrecies at the expense of soldier's lives."

"…I…" Dr Ally stammered standing several feet away, "…I, I can't….why? Why? How does it matter to you?"

"Being the staff of the temple, I would hope you'd tell me…"

Dr Ally just looked away.

"Doctor," Koch continued, "You should realize now that this is nothing but a game, what I don't know could forfeit my life and squander the opportunity to demonstrate what they need in a candidate."

"I…I don't…" she shook her head and turned away.

"Just tell me what you can, doctor," Koch softened his tone, allowing her to think in silence, "...anything at all, it could very well save my life."

Several tense seconds passed.

"Very well," she drew a deep breath with back facing Koch, "...but everything I'll tell you would remain in this room." she turned and look into Koch's eyes.

"I'm serious," she added, receiving a steady nod from the Lieutenant. "...promise me." She had to be sure.

"On my life," Koch said it without hesitating, there are no reasons to share with others anyway.

"Th..." she began, "This is one of many Vindicare Temple located across the Imperium... and this one resides in the sector codenamed Valaruz, its location and coordinates remain highly confidential and known only to certain high officials." She chose her words carefully, pausing in intervals as she organized her information, a slight tremble detected in her voice.

"This particular temple has been around for several decades, and like others, its purpose is to recruit, train, and accommodate assassins, also serving as a base to plan and coordinate assassinations in the respective sectors."

"They have access to genetic, weaponry and medical labs unique to the Assassinorum, all researches are done internally within the different arms - Callidus, Culexus, Eversor and Vindicare, and many of the researched technologies would never leave the vault, unless by special edict."

Koch listened intently.

"Candidates are chosen every so often strictly according the guidelines set by the curriculum, passed down since the beginning by the founders. Its foundation built upon the belief that people are weak, and responsibilities are earned, and raw power emerges from strife…

And as you have experienced since day one, they would induce strain, pressure and terror…segregating and recognizing desirable physical and mental attributes.

Those with desired traits will be further tested, the candidates will be trained, and their capacity will be rechecked."

Koch reflected thoughtfully, "And what's going to happen now?"

"The second stage will teach you all aspects of what is required of a Vindicare - in faith, tactics, and science; physical – of martial trainings, endurance and stealth. Any physical shortcomings will be bolstered further by bio-genetic enhancements." The doctor stopped as she thinks further, stress evident upon her face.

"Is that all?" Koch asked, "How do they decide if any of us is qualified?"

She merely looked down the ground as she rubbed against her forehead.

"As I said, there's no one in my time of service that has been selected…" she said impatiently, "…so I can't say for sure…"

"There must be a base for that decision, can it be found in the curriculum as you've mentioned?" Koch asked.

Dr Ally thought with a furrow above her eyebrows, "I don't know…I'm not even sure if the curriculum exists materially, even if it is, I don't think it's accessible to people other than the High Priest himself."

"How did they die, then?" Koch asked.

"The candidates?" the Doctor blinked and swallowed her saliva, "I don't know…"

"Don't you have to conduct post-mortems, or anything in relative? Records?" Koch insisted.

"No…" she breathed out.

Koch sighed as he turned away, thinking.

"What about the Vindicares?" Koch changed his approach, "Have you met them before?"

Again, he could see Dr Ally hesitating.

"Yes…I have," she said softly.

"Will they be part of our trainings?" Koch asked.

"Umm…" she scratched her temple, "I think so…yes…"

"How would they fit into our trainings, like mentors?"

"I can't really say…but in a sense, yes…"

"I would assume then, that our standards would have to match theirs to be considered as a Vindicare?"

Dr Ally shrugged mildly.

"What can you tell me about them?"

"Well," Dr Damien rolled her eyes sideways, bitting her lower lip while tapping her foot on the floor, "…there's really only one I can tell you about…"

Koch raised an eyebrow, waiting for the Doctor to continue.

She look at Koch, almost uncertain if she should tell him...closing her eyes..."He's the latest to be selected as a Valaruz, he was already here before my time," Dr Damien continued, "...and all Assassins are identified according to the sector of origin, with a number added as a suffix."

Koch waited.

"He's without a doubt, based in Valaruz," the doctor said.

"17, he was assigned as Valaruz 17th."


	19. Chapter 16: Valaruz 17th

Author's preamble:

havoc3147: Thank you for reading and keeping up with the story. In response, the number of temples in Terra it is quite true to canon, but at the same time, the Officio Assassinorum's organizational and operative structure, IMO, is one of the lesser developed story within Warhammer 40k Universe…so I thought, Why not expand at that and make it more interesting? Fret not, all shall be explained, perhaps not as soon as you'd like…but please, bear with me.

To The Assassin's awesome readers: Thank you for your time and words! Truly, it's all the reason I need to write!

Long Chapter…a very long chapter…my longest chapter yet!

P/S:

Enjoy!

* * *

**XVI – Valaruz 17th**

An odd spectrum of colors smeared every object caught within the wide angled view, stripping the stunning, natural blended hues of rocks, scarred, leafless trees and white powdery snow down to mere infrared radiation, picked up by his Spymask in the form of simple crayon-like shade of red and blue.

Down in a narrow, jagged valley, the chilling wind howled through the crevices mournfully, almost like a warning to a brave squad of teenage peasants that were marching across the thick snow under their new, fiber, bi-weave cloaks. With new, military grade lasweapons slinging their shoulders, and pitchforks or torches in another, they progressed courageously almost an inch at a time, little did they know they were walking over a skeletal graveyard of a battlefield.

All signs of death were buried conveniently (to Governor-General Verne of the 69th Cadian Regiment) under the thickness of the snow, holding the peasants' already weakened morale at bay. It was also most fortunate the weather was unforgiving, the raging blizzard distracting the peasant boys away from the tinier details of the rocky surroundings - broken lasrifles sticking out from the snow like a twigs, helmets mistaken for rocks, remains thought to be of beasts'.

They were making progress.

"HOOOOOLLD OOOOON!!" one of the boys, with severe acne problem, called out as loud as he could amidst the storm, motioning the others to stop.

"WHAAAAT?" the one in the front shouted back, cheeks flushing in red under thickness of his scarf.

"A….er….ic….tol!" his words lost its cohesiveness, chewed and torn by the wailing tempest.

"WHAAAAAAT?!" another cupped his hand to his ears.

"A….VERY….NICE….PISTOL!!" the pimpled one pointing towards the ground excitedly.

"FUUUUUUUCK!!" the leader shouted in irritation, "MOOOOVE!!" several curious ones looked over the ground, their vision obscured by the storm, gave up quickly when they saw nothing but snow. They turned away to join the up the rest.

"IT'S MIIIIINE, FOOOOOLS!!" the pimpled one shouted as smugly as he could, slightly disappointed they did not share his enthusiasm. He shrugged and ignored them as their bodies were slowly fading away into the thickness of the falling snow, he clumsily reversed in his heavy clothing, trudging through the snow until he felt the distance was enough to bend his waist to reach the weapon.

Only the tip of the Executioner pistol was sticking out, he used his left thick mitten to dig the snow aside to get more area to hold on to.

"Ehmm.." he sucked his lips inwards, his fingerless mitten slipping off the iced metal with every attempt. He laid his melee weapons aside and tried again with of his both hands, nudging it while muttering curses under his breath.

"Bitch…" with a final effort, he exerted all his strength and pulled out the gun. It detached from whatever that was holding it, and the excessive force threw him off balance, landing his back onto the ground like a turtle.

"Oof…" his breath forced out of his lungs, looking up towards the dark clouded sky with the pistol hanging over the fading sun. He sported a smile and silently praised his sharp eye, spoke a prayer to the God-Emperor for his lucky streaks today.

An Executioner pistol, he had only seen those wielded by those fierce capped officers, always scowling…always wearing red. _Commicars, was it?_He vaguely tried recalling their actual name from his watery memory.

He traced the time backwards, when it was just this morning he was casually strolling with his childhood friend, and along the Market District's, his eyes caught fresh, hastily made posters that were being slapped across walls, leading him to the local military recruitment centre. The 69th Cadian Regiment, apparently, was looking for a dozens recruits to report to the Northern base over the icy cold ridge on foot. Offered further with lasweapons, a nice cloak and reasonable amount of pay, he did not think twice before he packed his belongings, quickly kissed his teary parents goodbye and set off excitedly with the other youngsters.

Snapping out of his daze, he sucked all the oxygen into his belly and sat right up with a heave... his eyes greedily looked at the spot where he found the gun. There was definitely something else sticking out. Naturally, his curiosity urged him to roll over on all fours and crawled forward.

It became increasingly visible…it looked like an arm, with fingers on a palm covered in cloth…

"Shit…" the boy gasp…it was an arm.

He nervously looked around and painfully realized there was no one else…

He quickly pocketed the pistol, gathered all of his things and stood. His heart pounded as he realized the visibility was slowly reducing to just several dozen yards, his group was nowhere to be seen, only jagged, rocks surrounded him, spiraling into deadly, clawing spears, the ravaging snow storm painted an abstract portrayal of a massive swarm of tiny daemonlings, biting into his bones as they drifted pass.

"Pull yourself together, Pilo" he whispered to himself, half trembling and ready to burst into tears.

He searched for tiny hints of the group's footsteps and followed them, toiling against the mighty power of the blizzard to conquer forward the winding, rocky path; with gaunt, snow-covered, grey mountainous walls slowly closing in from both sides.

The howl of the wind boomed louder, its speed picking up against Pilo's direction, attempting to rip his cloak off his shoulder. Pilo slowly side stepped, making his way to the walls for support.

He spread himself against the wall and scaled across an inch at a time with his dear life.

Soon, his legs tire, his stomach growled in hunger and his fingers numbed. Frost formed on his eye-brows and his breathing intervals grew shorter.

xxx

On top of the narrow ridge, the Assassin's his cloak fluttered wildly over his athletic figure. Rippling muscles were carved on the camo-suit, outlining his lean, sleek body to perfect fit. Valaruz 17th stood steadily, barely flinching against the cruel, unforgiving chill. He had an eagle eyed view throughout the valley, following the progress of the bait.

_Bait, _he thought, they were not even old enough to shave.

The Exitus hung casually over his shoulder, relying only on his Spymask to stare down over six hundred yards from the top. One had separated from the group…a good sign, Lictors, the elites of the Tyranids Genus, were cautious fragile creatures; cunning, and were bred to never engage an entire unit head on. They had their natural camouflage abilities, and they never hesitate to use them to their terrifying extent.

It would make its move anytime now.

xxx

Pilo wanted to cry, but his nerves were too numb to function in its normal state, tears refused to leak out of his freezing eyes. He threw himself to the ground exhaustedly; curled up in a ball…he would just wait until the storm calms. Or wait until someone finds him…

He would just close his eyes for a moment…just for a moment…

But a crumbling sound suddenly aroused his attention, alarmed further by the shade of heavy amount of snow that had just slid of the rocks above him, tumbling over him like a massive blanket.

A muffled scream was all he could manage, the snow choking up his throats whilst feeling the weight of the heavy snow crushing his frail body, severing what remained of the sunlight. As he struggled to move his limbs, he felt a massive solid object grabbed him around the waist with precision and brute, jerking him slightly before pulling him out while shattering the blanket apart.

His body was lifted from the ground and was flailed from side to side, hardly giving his head any chance to keep up, his vision melted and blurred with excessive blood running through vessels in his head; and beyond the howling wind, his ears distinguished an eerie, drawling hiss.

The flailing stopped to a steady; his eyes were allowed what precious moments to adjust to the horror before him, slowly separating the skulking creature's skeletal frame from the colors of the snowy rocks. It became clearer, its girth judged to be almost three times taller than an average human being, with grotesque, skull white shaded chitinous carapace shelled and lined up along the back of its grey fleshy body.

It head resembled that of a scorpion, its red eyes glowing deep in its face, hissing menacingly as it hung from the rocky walls with it three other limbs.

It opened its mouth widely in hunger, with slithering red, bloody tentacles crawling out to taste Pilo's fear…its pair of deadly scythed claws hung over the creature from its back ready to shred its victim to pieces.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" he finally screamed, as loud until it drowned the storm's howl, and the helpless scream was it was all that he could manage, when the scythe was pulled back to be plunged into his body.

_BOOM!_

The sound of a sickening crush loomed over him, and death was the first thought that came to him. He closed his eyes, not wanting to see any of his spewing organs, any severed limbs.

But he did not feel any pain, still feeling the tight grip of the alien. He opened his eyes and could feel the gravity pulling him towards the earth quickly, still in the cradle of monster's grasp.

The alien before him was squealing, their distance growing apart…it straggled in agony, twisting and twitched with a missing forearm.

xxx

The computerized scope was quick and precise with its calculations, calculating the wind speed, spin drift, air density with several dozens more variables to assist the Assassin with his targeting.

He took another aim and pulled the trigger, the bullet exploded against the creature's hardened carapace, dislodging the creature's scythe at the joint. He unleashed another projectile, and another, and another…continuing until all of it was mutilated, its limbs exploded into the air with ooze strewn across the white, pure snow. The Tyranid crashed into the ground, squealing with every ounce of life left within it.

"Come out and play now," the Assassin whispered to himself.

It took awhile, but on his Spymask, the field vision of blue began to dot with red.

They were crawling from every hole, every cavern…obviously sensing the distress call from their dying kin through their highly evolved synapses.

…and they kept pouring out from their holes, advancing their positions to the group located not far ahead.

He wasted no time, he pulled the trigger…placing the shot straight into the first visible Lictor's head.

xxx

The small party slowly backed and formed a circle upon hearing a dying, wailing hiss. Followed by a terrifying sight of the snow rising into a monstrosity; three Lictors disengaged from their camouflages and roared menacingly.

"MOOOONSTEERS!!" the leader screamed at the top of his lungs as he held his ground, firing into the Tyranids.

"HELLLP!" one of them shouted into his radio, "SOOOMONE HEEEELP!!"

"YAAAARGHHH!!" Another burst into tears, a pool of yellow trickled down his boots and into the snow.

They were surrounded, the rain of lasrounds did nothing but to leave just burning marks on the monster's carapace. The Lictors moved very cautiously to surround their victims, one of them leapt forward in an opening, but fell short when its head exploded suddenly, crashing into the snow just right before their feet.

Another roared in pain, with its organic liquids burst out from its back, shifting its weight around wildly before its head was blown off.

More Tyranids crawled out…

xxx

The assassin paused for a moment, assessing the numbers between the Pilo and the group… with a flick he switched off the overly distracting auto-assist targeting system, quietly calculating and prioritizing on the different targets at the top of his head, estimated their moving patterns in his head.

Every target was in queue…

His eyes trailed his first target, leveling the Exitus to eye level and moving the crosshair several millimeters away from the target. His mind went blank, he thought of nothing, feared nothing, allowing only his natural instinct and the wind to guide the bullet to his target.

He pulled the trigger, the bullet sliced through the air and like a massive hammer, smashed into the Lictor's skull, throwing it down to the ground with force.

He moved the Exitus smoothly across horizontally to his next target, and exacted punishment to the alien.

Another took the bullet, thrown into the ground forcefully with its biological contents spilling across the snow.

The last bullet of the cartridge was spent, Valaruz 17th unbolted the cartridge's lock and replaced a fresh one with mechanical accuracy, almost as if he had done it a million times.

Another crawled onto Pilo, its scythe ready to rend the boy into pieces when another bullet whirred and punched into its head.

The punisher continued unleashing his fearsome bullets, the Exitus rang like a vicious thunder, the noise and his focus tearing him away even from the crackling in his vox cast.

"Valaruz 17th, come in Valaruz 17th," he finally caught the buzz with a raspy, female voice.

"Yup," he replied curtly, felling another.

"Move aside…" a different voice interrupted with urgency, "This is Governor-General Verne, are you there, Valaruz 17th?"

"Yeah, I'm listening," Valaruz 17th replied, moving the Exitus across his field of slaughter.

"Intelligence is telling us we've got a positive on Lictor sightings, confirm that Valaruz 17th,"

"You've guessed it," the Assassin said casually, locking on another target "…General, I love to chat, but I'm still a little busy if you don't mind."

He could hear the female chuckling, choking the General "Don't get smart with me, you vagrant…" BOOM! The other end exploded with the Exitus' shot, the General turning away, growling… pausing, "…Valaruz 17th, are you still there?"

"Look General, if you have anything to say, say it quick, I'm a little distracted here," the Assassin continued, albeit, with a calmly demeanor… the Lictors had nearly lost their appetite to kill the bait, slowly backing away. He had to shuffle his targets, to further confuse the Tyranids and hold them in positions to make room for the boys' escape route. _Seven more, _Valaruz 17th counted, the bait would run, and re-engage the Lictors in their predatory game.

"Valaruz 17th, we've a change of plans," the General continued, Valaruz 17th listened as he continued observing, generating hundreds of outcome for every decision he was about to make.

Through the vox cast, he could hear the group arguing whether they should stay or move.

"WE HAVE TO GO BACK!!" another had decided, he broke away from the group at an available opening, other followed suit one at a time.

The Lictors moved around cautiously, fearing death yet growing more excited in chasing its fearful preys.

"Assassin, are you listening?" the General raised his voice.

"Yes, and my hearing is fine, no need to shout," the Assassin responded in an amusing tone.

"Listen," the General ignored the Assassin's banter, "We're going to level the valley with artilleries, kill them once and for all and make sure they stay that way, do you copy?"

"Basilisks? Tell me I've heard that wrong," the Assassin began to feel less amused.

"We're going to deploy Earthshaker rounds, get em' all out the remaining out in the open, and follow it up with of shells and Radex 78… spreading the toxin to the rest of the genus."

"Radex 78?" the Assassin exclaimed, "Well, aren't you a bright one, oganophosphates are obsolete, the Tyranids has evolved to be immune against that poison since Medusa V. Haven't you read the label?" he ended with a sarcastic tone, executing another Tyranid.

The General coughed, frowning in embarrassment, "Radex 78 is known to…damnit…?" he bit his lower tongue as he fumbled with some documents on the other end.

"…its toxicity is known to be amplified by wildlife exposures…" Valaruz 17th helped him finished, "…don't bother, you'll turn this entire area into a biological danger zone for next two centuries. But of course, you wouldn't have a conscience to tell you that, would you?" Valaruz 17th referred to the unsuspecting peasant boys, and how that was the General's idea of a bait.

"You watch what you say…" he responded disbelievingly.

"No, listen here you backwater peasant," the Assassin said threateningly, "The Assassinorum haven't spent trillions of Imperial Marks on their assassins to be listening to incompetent imbeciles like you. Bombarding such small target is a waste of resource; moreover, you'll be caving in the entire valley, severing the ground link between the town and the Northern base, logistics would take at least thrice as long with alternate routes."

"You've called on the service of the Assassinorum's and here we are, so, please, you can shove your merry ideas up your arse and leave me to finish my work."

The other end remained quiet, and just clicked off.

xxx

General Verne gritted his teeth, hands shaking mildly and smashed the headset against the nearest desk, "That insolent son of a bitch!" he screamed, his graying, greasy hair in a mess, he was so convinced that the Basilisk strike was the right move. Now with just that simple conversation, the Assassin had torn down what respect he had built over the past three years.

"His arguments do have their merits," his female aide said.

"Shut up, know your place and remember who you're serving," he snapped at the unfazed girl.

He paced back and fourth, he can sense the over a dozen eyes judging him with disrespect. It was unacceptable, what will the men think? He needed to put those who oppose him back in their places.

"Vera," he leaned closer to his aide, "Put me through artillery."

The entire room fell silent.

"Sir…the Assassin," she quivered.

"The Assassin is not in command, the last time I checked," he growled.

Vera twitched uncomfortably, "…the Temple would…"

The General pulled out his pistol and pressed the barrel into her head, "I can always find more that is willing to take your place."

xxx

Pilo, with all his strength, managed to crawl out from the alien's hands, and was well on his way back towards the town. The Assassin burst the head of another Lictor that was skulking behind him.

"Valaruz 17th," a female voice whispered again through his vox cast.

"Yes, sweetheart," he cooed charmingly, "What does the good general wants now?"

"Valaruz 17th," she cleared her throat, she was obviously very cautious, "I'm acting out of the General's orders...so I need you to understand that I have no part of what I'm going to tell you…"

"Go on," the Assassin replied, never taking his eyes off his battlefield.

"The general…" she paused, "…the General has issued orders for a Basilisk strike, where none of his orders include procedure for your extraction ." She paused, checking her time, "You have ten minutes."

The Assassin paused and thought for awhile, chuckling, he looked down towards the boys, "Seems I've misjudged the size of the General's balls…and brains, for that matter…"

"The General is a man of insecurities, however, now is not time for jests…" she whispered, "you best make your escape now."

"Indeed," he offered an easy smile, "…and I don't know your name yet."

"Vera," she offered curtly.

"Vera," he repeated, "…if now is not the time for jest, then I'd trust we'll both find time for a good tease together, another day…"

"We'll see," she replied steadily, smiling slightly.

Valaruz 17th merely chuckled, "...may I just ask why you're doing this for me?"

"As charming as you are, assassin, you're underestimating us women and you really shouldn't get too ahead of yourself," she replied coolly, "... not even we're dumb enough to be on the Assassinorum's bad side."

"Point taken," the Varaluz 17th added a laugh.

"In any case, I have to go, the General might be back anytime soon," she paused, "..stay alive, assassin."

"I'll keep that in mind, but would you just please hold for a moment," he resigned into thought, hundreds of outcomes formed in his head in a decision he was about to make, "…Vera, I need another favor, I need you to open my channel to one of the boys."

"Why?" she was caught by surprise.

The assassin remained silent for a moment.

"They're expendable," she added, "...you know that."

He looked down to the kids, they were straining every ounce of the muscles just to stay alive.

"Valaruz 17th, you're in no position to save them," she said, "...not under 10 minutes, not with the Artillery and Lictors around."

"Pilo,"

"What?"

"I believe his name is Pilo," he remembered when Pilo was encouraging himself to get himself together.

"I can't believe this," she sighed, "...fine."

Hundreds of outcomes ran through his head.

xxx

It was every man for himself.

The boys' distance began to grow apart with the heavy clothing taking a toll on their stamina, as strong as they were, they're energy being taxed heavily by the frosty gust. They did not look back, they ran, they jogged mindlessly…having little or no concern for their mates.

Pilo, that was running ahead heard something, a crackle, a buzz but paid little attention to it.

"…zzzt..co…in…zzzt" he heard it again and realized was his radio.

He tapped his earpiece, pressing it deeper into his ears to listen clearer.

"Can you hear me Pilo?" the other end buzzed.

"HEELLP!" he screamed into his microphone, "HEEEELP!!"

"And I'm hearing you fine, lad, calm down," Valaruz 17th said.

"HEEEELPP, HEEEEEELP!" he continued screaming.

"I heard you boy, now I need you to shut up and listen!" Valaruz 17th yelled back.

"HELP, please help sir," his voice shivered and chattered, 'There's monsters, white insects, white large insects…."

"I know, I'm located approximately six hundred yards away from you…and you're in good hands," Valaruz 17th took aim at the Lictor closing in on the boy running last… with a leap, its claws were pulled back, ready to kill its victime when the bullet spun through the air and exploded into the alien's skull.

"Listen lad, I'm taking care of the aliens, and your friends are catching up right behind you, if you want them to live, you will to do as I say," Valaruz 17th looked around, swinging the Exitus over his shoulder and began running. Some of Lictors were now separated; some seemed to have vanished behind rocky terrains.

"Yes sir," he huffed wearily.

"Now Pilo, you have to slow down and catch some air," he ran across the narrow ridge, hopping from ledge to ledge to gain a better vantage point., "…or else your body would wear itself before you get to your destination."

Pilo began to slow down to a jog.

"You will run at this speed for a good six minutes, where you'll find a red flare on the ground," he stopped, scouted the area and returned the Exitus to eye-level. "There is where you would wait for the rest of your friends, do you understand?"

"Red flare, yes sir,"

"There are thirteen of you in your team, including yourself, you will have them wait until your team is complete, until then, I will give you further instructions, do you understand?" Valaruz 17th took another aim.

"Thirteen, yes sir," he repeated, trying his best to focus when echo of an explosion reached his ears.

"Now keep moving lad," Valaruz 17th shifted his crosshair, pulling the trigger yet again, the bullet thundered out of its chamber.

"Keep moving, yes sir," he breathed, and he breathed, ignoring the explosions behind him.

Valaruz 17th continued emptying his cartridge, the final bullet killing another Lictor, causing the remaining four stop in their tracks and dispersing into different directions out of sight. He checked his timer; it has already been four minutes since Vera called in, and Pilo has yet to reach the destination.

He removed an oddly-shaped, red colored bullet from one of his waist pouch, and manually inserted into the chamber, sliding the bolt firmly into place before aiming it towards an open space down below. He opened fire and the bullet made its way across the whole five hundred yards, burying into the snow. Seconds later, red smoke puffed like a cloud from the bullet.

_Five minutes_, and Pilo was still running at a consistent speed. Valaruz 17th checked the time and breathed in deeply, he replaced the cartridge and stood at ready. He could not be sure if the remaining Lictors had retreated, but he could not be too careful either.

_Six minutes,_he looked down and saw Pilo was already there.

"Sir," Pilo panted, "I see the flare, sir."

"Excellent," Valaruz 17th responded, "Now take a breather, the rest will come."

Valaruz 17th checked the time again, _six and a half minutes, _and three more arrived to Pilo's location. Pilo waved at them frantically, stopping them and tried hard to explain the situation.

He cast his gaze further down the valley, and saw the remaining reducing their speed, fatigue was thinning their survival instinct.

He looked at the time, there was still three minutes.

Pilo now had seven with him and many were asking Pilo questions in paranoia.

"Sir," Pilo called in, "…the guys are getting worried, they want to know what's going on."

"We have no time for that now," Valaruz 17th said, "Just know that you have approximately two and a half minutes to wait, before you have to take whoever's there into the opening to your right."

Pilo looked to his right, staring into a narrow cavern, "Yes, I see it."

"The path will lead you downwards, it's a very narrow cavern that will take you Westbound to the Melit Swamps, and it is unlikely the aliens would able to squeeze through that hole, "Valaruz 17th explained, when suddenly a decrypted message notifier flashed before his Spymask's H.U.D.

_Basilisk strike under 30 seconds. Emperor protects._

_Vera. _

As Valaruz 17th read the message, "You have to go now," his voice had more urgency now.

There was a short silence,

"Pilo, go now," he repeated again.

"But…" Pilo sounded confused, "But there hasn't been twelve yet…"

"Forget about them, you're compromising the lives of your entire team…" Valaruz 17th was breathing faster, "…listen to me Pilo, when you go down the path, you will come to a fork, take the…"

Before he could finish, a rapid red flashed before his H.U.D.

_WARNING: ALIEN LIFE SIGNAL DETECTED WITHIN DANGER PROXIMITY._

With his quick instinct, he quickly bended low and leapt to his right where the edge of the cliff was. True enough, a scything claw came swooping from the other side, barely missing his neck.

Valaruz 17th landed and rolled on the ground, falling about ten feet off the cliff, with the snow breaking his fall on the lower plateau. He dismissed the minor pain caused by soft impact and scurried back to his feet. "Sir! Sir!" His vox cast still buzzed with Pilo's call.

"Pilo, can you hear me?" _Shit, _he ashamedly realized he had been careless, the Lictor somehow managed to sniff out his location, slinging the Exitus to his back and he removed the Exeter from his holster.

A shadow loomed over the Imperial and he swung his pistol upwards where the creature was, and as expected another claw came drilling down onto the assassin, he countered it with a half-spin, evading the impaling attempt and planted two bullets into the Alien's jaws, fire erupted within its brain and killing it instantly.

He took a leap down to another ledge, spotting another Lictor climbing up to the plateau…his Exeter roared, killing the creature as it fell down to its doom.

Three more were advancing to his position, and Valaruz 17th decided not to stay and fight, "Sir…! Which fork do we take?" Pilo yelled in his ears, he leapt from the ledge and slid his way down the steep slope, landing on another ledge when the third threw itself from his blind spot, its massive weight forced the assassin down the crag. The assassin remained unfazed, wrapping one hand around the alien's neck as they fell, pressing the pistol below its head and fired. He endured the incendiary burns as he clung onto the Tyranid's dead carcass still, never letting go as they crashed and tumbled down the rocks in the valley. Sharp rocks cut through the assassin's suit, the force of every crash damaged his inner tissues.

The alien and the assassin rolled down the foot of the mountain, with the assassin unfortunately receiving the final crushing blow to his back, the enormous weight of the creature lying on his top.

His world began to fade into blackness.

"Sir!" Pilo's voice called out pleadingly, "Which fork do we take?!"

Valaruz 17th bit his lower lip, fighting to stay conscious, reaching for one of his pouches.

The notifier flashed madly before him again,

_WARNING: ALIEN LIFE SIGNAL DETECTED WITHIN DANGER PROXIMITY_

_WARNING: INCOMING ARTILLERY ROUNDS DETECTED_

Valaruz 17th removed a metal syringe, and plunged it deep into his heart and emptying the liquid, groaning, filling his lungs with air.

He stretched out his arms and placed it on the alien's carcass, attempting to push it away.

He lifted it up an inch, and nudged his body out. Drawling hisses were even more audible now.

_WARNING: ALIEN LIFE SIGNAL DETECTED WITHIN DANGER PROXIMITY_

_WARNING: INCOMING ARTILLERY ROUNDS DETECTED_

The notifier flashed again.

Then he stopped, hearing the faint whistle, the familiar whiz of a Basilisk round searing the sky…

BOOM!

The earth shook, everything faded to black.

"Sir! Sir!" he heard Pilo's call again...

_Which fork do we take?  
_

xxx

**13 hours later**

General Verne looked out his window in his quarters… the sunlight had already vanished, yet the moon was nowhere to be seen amidst the still cloudy climate.

The Basilisks had been idle since three hours ago, and the entire planet Xesxes seemed to be savoring the moment of peace.

It was not a luxury, however, for the General to savor, he breathed a sigh of uneasiness, the vision of his decisions was still fresh in his memory…he traced back through time and thought of all the mistakes he could have reverted…

Four days ago, an Imperial Navy patrol encountered a small Tyranid scouting fleet in Sector 73. The encounter erupted into a short battle before the fleet disappeared. Two hours later, a contact report was sent to the adjacent systems and planets with warnings a possible Tyranid scout party supplant.

It was not a warning that many planets would choose to ignore except for General Verne, who considered Xesxes to be safe and of no strategic value to the enemy, all save Xesxes had initiated planetary defense and patrols. To his lack of tactical sense, the Tyranid fleet had made the defenseless planet its immediate target.

It did not take Xesxes at least four hours until they realize their lines had been infiltrated by a pod filled with Lictors.

It was then they mobilized their ships and armies, engaging the fleet in a steep, arduous battle. On the ground, soldiers boxed in and contained the perimeter where the drop pod was last sighted. And it was their counter-surveillance's worst nightmare, with the area was hailed by a ceaseless storm. Every skirmish sent to nullify the threat was destroyed and laid to waste.

When both sides were at a standstill, the General swallowed his pride and called in the Assassinorum's aid…they could deploy to any parts of the Imperium in under two hour.

It has been 13 hours since he had heard anything from the Assassin…there was no trace of the boys as well. A quick reconnaissance indicated the mountainous range was torn asunder, nothing would have survived the massive destruction. Although the fleet has been destroyed, he had a feeling strange feeling the Tyranid's threat was not over yet.

Now he was fighting on two ends, the possible invasion of a larger fleet and the repercussion of the Temple.

The Assassinorum...he would have to contact them first thing in the morning, order a search and rescue operation and generate a bogus report indicating the Tyranids outnumbered the assassin. The Basilisk strike had to be ordered to destroy the alien threat once and for all.

That would not be enough, _no_, he thought again, shivering. He would have to execute and replace the entire Operation's staff, he had to kill everybody that knew about the strike order to cover his tracks. A technician would be called to temper with the sound recordings.

He rubbed his tired face, palms sweated from his hands…tomorrow is going to be a long day.

_No…it has to be tonight,_ he hands began to shake as he moved to his nightstand where his wife was sleeping. He picked up the encrypted voice-caller.

"Jevan, get me Francois," he whispered as softly as he could, cupping his mouth as he speaks, "Jevan…"

No answer.

He reconnected the voice-caller and tried again…"Jevan, respond damnit…"

He hit the mouth of the phone several times with his palm, when suddenly he could feel cold steel pressing to the base of his head.

"It's getting late, general..." The familiar, distorted synthesized voice whispered into his ears, "…you have to give people a break."

He sunk with fear, his heart dropped, and his limbs shook profusely, he wanted to scream…he wanted to shout for help.

"But I guess even loose ends can't wait," the shadow sneered, "can they?"

"Valaruz 17th? You're going to kill a General?" he he swallowed down as much fear as he could, yet not nearly enough to mask the fear ebbing in his words.

"On your knees," Valaruz 17th ordered.

"I…I…I've done nothing wrong!" he barked, "I was doing what it takes to complete the mission!"

"And a piss poor job that was," Valaruz 17th replied curtly, "'He who obstructs the Assassin from executing his holy mission, shall be deemed an enemy to the Temple, and shall be condemned to death under the foul crimes of Heresy,'" the Assassin continued, "On your knees."

The General grit his teeth and breathed harder, "Valaruz 17th... Valaruz...we can talk this..."

The Assassin pulled the trigger and punctured a hole through the back of General's right knee, with blood splashing through the carpet, his kneecaps collapsed while the entire body dropped on the floor screaming and wailing.

A figure roused suddenly from the bed - a woman young enough to be the General's daughter, wrapped in sheets, stared at the Assassin dumbfounded and disorientated.

"Aaaaaarggggg!!" She screamed at the top of her lungs when she realized the Assassin was standing so close while the General was sprawled at the floor, bleeding.

Another muffled shot hissed and the woman's wailing instantly turn into a gurgle, with blood gushing out of her larynx, her hands held to her throat, eyes wide open in disbelief, desperately trying to stop the bleeding.

"YOU SON OF A BITCH!!" The General screamed in anguish, trying to crawl up to the bed, "YOU FUCKING SON OF A BITCH!!"

But Valaruz 17th remained stoic, his mask merely stared towards at the General, and Valaruz 17th emitted not a decibel of breathing, no sign of mercy, no sign of cruelty.

The General whimpered as he closed in to his woman, still alive as she struggled horribly in bed. The General turned around and screamed one last time in the cold face of his executioner., "YOU SON OF BI...!!"

The General could no longer continue his curse, seeing a faint smoke emitting from the barrel of the Exeter, feeling warm liquid trickling down his neck. He clutched his own throat and begun tossing and turning violently.

The Assassin looked on for a brief moment as both of their lives slowly slipping away before he holstered the weapon and looked out of the window, the mountainous range, crumbled and destroyed.

Hundreds of thoughts ran through his head.

Valaruz 17th turned away and exited the room, greeted by Vera, and behind her, a corridor full of General Verne's command squad and officers looking through the door at the dying couples, some shocked, some stoic, some merely curious. All the same, judging the Assassin differently.

"There hasn't been news on the boys yet," Vera said first.

He looked deep into her eyes, before he wordlessly walked away, trying to discard all the mixed feelings that were welling up within him.

* * *

**_A/N:I apologize and regret to say that this chapter wasn't really well laid-out initially with several key points missing. Thank you Maugen Ra for noticing the unusual Lictor concentration. _****_ Changes were made to the final part of this chapter with the sub-title 13 hours later._**


	20. Chapter 17: Revival

Author's Preamble: Happy New Year everybody!

Another year, another chapter...

Enjoy!

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**Chapter XVII – Revival**

The Temple was still basked in its own shadowy gaze, its massive black stoned walls trapping its prey from the outside world. The walls shook and vibrated, thumped with the sound of collective heartbeats across the hall. Sweat excreted from underneath his skin, it was not the humid stench, but of fear…and it drenched and chilled his entire back. He could now smell of excrement and blood, faintly wafting to his senses while the ground began to soil in thick murkiness.

_Boom..._the thuds and heartbeats dwindled, and grew fainter, yet he still felt the pulsing waves, intensifying as it shook and hemorrhaged his very muscles and organs out like an infected rupture.

He held himself together in pain as he raised his knee to move forward, wading himself through the dark mud that seemed to rise in level, swirling slowly into bloody red sludge.

The pain and stench choked him further; while the tremor escalated to a violent quiver, distorting the corridor to blackness and a blur when the stones themselves began to fizz and simmer. Odd shapes formed on the black stone like warts, and they bloated larger in size, squealing in tiny voices that were both agonizing and melancholic.

His vision blurred… his heart raced faster with wail and screams escalated to a frightening terror. The thump, the thump, thumping thousands of unfamiliar tortured black faces out across the massive corridor. Eyeless visages moved animatedly, with mouths gapped wide open helplessly, screaming as they were deprived of freedom, begging Calsus in pain and despair. Their voices choked with bitterness and sorrow, deathly sick and tormented as they vomited, bled and hurled out more of the reddish grime to flood the infinite corridor.

The mud stirred like a raging tide, flooding to his waist in just an instant. He did not realize as his eyes was drawn to the faces…the expressions, the anguish…the familiar feeling of that of a victim of men's depraved nature, detectable from just a painful glare. His mind raced and reached memories stacked at the back of his head, and again saw innocent bystanders were being killed senselessly…women being raped and sodomized against their will… men's lives forfeited on a whim… the evil, triumphant smile of his superior's when the last sentence of mysterious letter was digested…

He suddenly felt a pain in his chest, his heart… saddened and provoked by the ugliness of his own kin. He did not understand…he did not know why he hated it so, and how he became the victim of such wickedness. He had recognized his own strength, he leapt over obstacles and above all, he had toiled and survived, emerged time and again unscathed and unscarred…yet, in spite of all his victories, the end of the fight, the blood, the slaughter was no where in sight. He was still tormented even when his strength was in the right, justifiable place, his mind still hurt when he failed to save a life… no matter how hard he tried, and when he rid the universe of the seven scumbags, he was vilified.

Life was hell, it was not only him, and it was seldom simple…and nothing seemed to have changed, he still could not accept where he stands in the world. The strong will win, and he knew he was strong, that was what he was brought up to understand…but nothing has changed.

He secretly sought his own world…he wanted to live it alone…

The mud of manure now reached to his neck, and he breathed no longer…and soon, he thumbed his nose and felt the thick, flowing compost gracing his lips, and rapidly to the top of his head.

This was it…he was to die in filth, in disgust… like everyone else… but yet, he realized…his stubborn nature screamed at him to not surrender, even at impossible odd.

He could still hear the screams, the tremor shaking in his body… he eyes shut…

Suddenly, a soft, gloomy light pierced even his eye lids, he opened his eyes…and beyond everything, he saw a faint figure off the ground…suspended in air against an ethereal background. Against the tremendous pressure, he moved forward closer to the light…closer, and closer…until he reached his hand forward and touched the body.

With both arms, he held onto the body's waist and exerted all his strength, pulling himself up and rushed to return to the surface…with a final pull, he burst out from the grime and sucked in whatever air he could gather.

As he held around the cold body's neck…he stunned, gasping in horror…the deathly stare, the icy cold eyes…the pale skin…and the noose strangling tightly around the neck, from the endless darkness above.

The thick grime flooded still, rippling into short, vicious waves… he was clutching onto his own dead body, Calsus was dead.

xxx

He could feel the thickness of the excrement filling up his throat, and choked violently, the pressure sent a painful cut to his nose and ears…

His body jerked, and wheezed as he awoken to a clear, sunny room, drenched with sweat and fear with pupils dilated in blankness…he could feel the contents of his belly moving, and he vomited fluids all over his bed.

A massive figure stood to the opposite; crossing his hands as he watched Calsus threw up expectantly. He was donned in a set of black, angular power armor, nicked with rusts of time and weapons scratches with an insignia of uncertain origins to the front. His breathing loud and steady through the vox cast in his helm…

"It's about time you arouse," the towering man's voice boomed, his feet rooted to the ground like pillars.

Calsus took a moment before his vision cleared, registering the voice that was before him. He shuddered, and instinctively tried leaping out of the bed. But his body jerked backwards by a force and was hurled back to the bed…his wrists were chained to the walls…and again, Calsus screamed to the top of his lungs, struggling yet again to break free from this sick prison.

"AAAAAARRRRGGGGG!" he screamed at the man, spit and trails of his vomit barely reaching the end of the bed.

Calsus continued yelling in madness, drooling in an uncontrollable rage and fear, like a wild animal. But the armored man's gaze was unmoving, unfazed... waiting until the yelling reduced to a growl. He breathed rapidly, and strained his entire body to tear the chain asunder…

Nothing happened…

He crashed onto his back and began whimpering, tears leaked out from the corner of his eyes and he curled into a ball. He wept.

"Is that all you've got Lance Corporal?" he spoke again, deep, earthy tone did not change, "I fail to see why the High Priest has taken such an interest in you."

Calsus did not respond, but still cried to himself.

"You single-handedly completed the patrol assigned to you in Crag V, and this is all you can demonstrate?" he taunted Calsus further, but to no avail…his spirit was as good as crushed.

The mysterious man paused, but Calsus's weeping did not cease.

"Lance Corporal Calsus de Marche, you have been in coma for four days now, and I no longer have the patience to wait for your recovery," he started again, "Personally, I would rather much put a lasround to your brain right now and rid the temple of a disgrace such as yourself…

…but the Priest has a proposition for you, and it is startlingly simple. I will say it only once, and you better damn listen to every word I say, because these choices will be yours to make…" Calsus still refused to look at him, cringing and wallowing further, but the hulking giant continued anyway…

"One, you can choose to wholeheartedly accept to continue with the selection program, under which, you will completely devote yourself to learning the Arts, and compete your very best for the title of the Vindicare… and all your crimes and sins towards the temple would be pardoned, granting yourself an Honorable, clean and painless passing should you fail to qualify.

Two, we can grant you your release, by which we can put an end to your life…" Calsus weeping was reduced, and he was beginning to pay more attention, as observed by the armored man, "…but in utter disgrace, you would be a subject as a prey and a target to those still in practice for the title…you would be chased and be put down like an animal, and we'll make sure your ending would be a tormenting one." Calsus shrunk and stayed silent, the man knew he had just put a sledgehammer through his heart.

Three, we will grant you the opportunity to earn your freedom," Calsus was once again paying attention, "But in return, you will be required to attend the Judge's Sacrament… a ritual where you have to make a choice. After which, you will be engaged in a hunt… where the other candidates will be ordered to foil your attempt of escape, by means of taking your life in a fair, controlled environment. Towards your objective is a ship, the final obstacle and another choice to be made - you can agree to rejoin the program, or you can go towards your freedom, the ship will take you anywhere in the universe and planet of your choosing."

Calsus remained quiet, and the man studied him further "You disgust me…" he spat.

"You have twenty-four hours to think it through," the armored man turned away and exited the room.

xxx

"…the Emperor remains a shining light to all living men, and his immortality remains a symbol that men's strength is eternal if they devote their heart and soul to serve the God-Emperor. We owe our lives to the Emperor, and our sacred duties would be to follow all that his chosen commands… for his glory and luminance, to destroy all that stands for Chaos, for all Chaos stands for is corruption, death and eternal damnation.

The followers of Chaos are mindless, they are weak, and they are blind to the false promise of power and immortality. They live in a realm of madness and sickness, where no green grows and no happiness. Only debauchery and…"

"Ahhh!!!" another scream came, startling and distracting Kira again from focusing on the Imperial Gospel.

She quickly regretted it, and tried focusing again.

But it was too late, the machine hummed and zapped a tiny electrical current to the back of her neck…causing her to squeal in pain as well.

It was just a little after noon, where the eight had just finished up their lunch, and before that, vigorous physical exercise for five hours since the sunlight touched the earth. Fitness, martial training, and obstacle courses… it was the fourth day and thing was not getting any easier.

All of them were enclosed in NETUs, Neural Enhancer Training Units, it resembled a snail's shell where the candidates were allowed to sit in and shut out from the light. The units were arranged in a large circle, and their shaved heads were routed with wires to monitor their brain waves and patterns. In the capsule was a screen and a pair of earphone, where the candidates were given a stimulus to for their brains to focus on, it was currently the Imperial Gospel in visual and audio form, to capture the brain activity in response to the stimulus. Once their brain activities were discovered to have reduced from an expected level, they would be punished by short, painful electrical shock that was otherwise non-fatal, therefore conditioning to brain to remain focus on the objective and little else. The NETUs were not soundproofed as well, and the candidates would have to learn not to get distracted by other noises and elements.

It was the fourth hour, and they were told the hours for this exercise would increase as days goes by, and the stimulus would be less engaging - removing visuals or audio, until only still pictures, and just a small black dot on a white background. The seatings would sometimes contort slightly in varying angles to further sharpen their attention span in different physical positions. This form of mental exercise, as Kira understood from the Commissar, was to last the entire program and even after selection as full fledged assassins need their mind to stay sharp and focused on their targets, where they would occupy a single position up to a 153.6 hours.

She began to wonder how Koch was doing, but quickly regretted it again; the next electrical punishment came swiftly and forced her to concentrate on the Gospel, allowing her attention nowhere else but the screen and words before her.

"…kill the mutant, burn the witches, purge the heretic…" she repeated the words that came through her headphones, it was the best she could do to retain her focus.

xxx

It was not easy, even for Koch…he personally thought this exercise was a waste of his time. He would be better off searching clues to uncover the secrets the Temple seemed to hold so dear of, it was something crucial, an important element to the key of his victory. The training and selection method, he observed, was very specific to their needs… and if they truly have followed the original curriculum, their ideal candidate would have been revealed about seven and a half months ago.

But it had been more than two years, twenty seven months since the last Vindicare Assassin was chosen, and he remembered the Commissar said after their first trial, that 332 assassins had been trained over 515 years, that would be an average of one Assassin for every 1.5 years. But it had been more than twenty seven months as according to Dr. Damien, and something was amiss...he needed to find out what.

More elements shrouded his mind with doubt, that of the relatively short span of the staff that had been working in the temple…Dr. Damien and Seac'kre, Seac'kre claimed he knew no one else that worked more than three years, himself, only two years. Seac'kre offered no more, but Koch would want to find out more if he knew more, where was he from as such...

...and the bargain for the females body, he had not forgotten that one.

Koch winced, another electric jolted his body, but he refused to scream and paid attention to the Gospel once again. It was probably the 30th time experimented the NETU, by searching his mind for a replacement stimulus as engaging as the Gospel, mental pictures, strategies, voices...everything combined, but even his intelligence was no match to NETU's accuracy to detect the change in his brain patterns.

He conceded, but just for a moment, at the back of his head he was even more convinced that this selection method was somehow different from the previous assessments. He refused to accept that all he needed to do was to follow the curriculum and everything would fall into place…he needed to do more, and he would start by Seac'kre.

He bit his bottom lip in agony, the electric struck again.


	21. Chapter 18: Consequences

Author's Preamble: What would it take to move to another country? Packing up your computer, clothes, your memories, and stuff it in a box to be shipped over. Yes, I'm in a different country now, looking for a job and basically settling down. Life here isn't bad, busy for most part…now I'm slowly readjusting to fit writing back into my system, not easy, but I'm definitely trying. 

Thank you for still reading, and your patience. Was waiting for my word-processing machine to arrive, but it won't be until another month or so. Can't wait, so I'm using a different computer.

Disclaimer: Racial and homophobic slurs expressed in this chapter… the author would not entertain any flames. Subject matter is purely literary.

As usual, enjoy!

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**XVIII – Consequences**

The medical effects and consequences of a Type-D Epinephrine varies from patient to patient, an advanced variant of colloquially known term – Adrenaline, to forcefully rouse a patient from trauma-induced coma into full consciousness.

Amongst the immediate side-effects studied and recorded was reduced concentration, loss of appetite, delusions, transitory down-syndrome, bipolar disorder, organ failure and more. The effects and consequences are till largely under study and scrutiny, questioning the effectiveness of its purpose during information extraction under duress and torture.

She could chose to not care, as Dr. Damien repeatedly asserted to Brother Kisex, the man in the power armor, the head of security, but she meekly attempted to imply in intricacy anyways - the consequences and recklessness of employing such a potent drug to a traumatized patient.

Broter Kisex was, however, not a man of subtlety.

And Dr. Julian was not much help either, the withering old doctor patted on her back and told her to let it slide in spite of his dread for lack of cooperation and prudence.

_It would have been different if Dr. Mohmar was still around, _she thought of Dr. Julian's offhanded remark… how it still rang perfect irony. Calsus – the same man, the deranged, psychotic soldier who killed Dr. Mohmar, who became the apothecary's informal leader, was now paying for his own recklessness…killing the only man who would have prevented a stubbornly autocratic Brother Kisex from making such medical miscalls. Calsus now lay on the bed, twitching his bionic fingers in his detachment, his biological system struggled to regain and reorient itself from the drug.

_The dual irony, _she found herself chuckling morbidly, and Dr. Julian asked why. She looked into his eyes and tried to put it in words – that it was Dr. Mohmar's cold, hard nature…the trait that she tried so hard to pick up, had been serving as the only buffer from Brother Kisex's lack of practical, common sense. He would just give Brother Kisex his blank glare, employed pure logic, and spat medical jargons in his face to submission; but of course…almost as if fate was playing a joke, employed it to a demented soldier and instantly became the instrument of his death, sparking the strings of incidents that incited these frustrating setbacks…

_Setbacks,_a grossly understated noun, it was a catastrophe that did not seem to have solutions at sight, Brother Kilex, with his whims and rashness had Calsus moved to an empty room with little medical apparatus to sustain his physical and mental condition…that would not even be a problem actually, if he had also given them more time and manpower to outfit the room.

_At least he took the advice on the sunny room - _that would lessened the effects of Calsus's fear mechanisms, lowering the risk of a mental shutdown if he would, otherwise, be awaken in a dull, claustrophobic-inducing environment.

_Dr. Mohmar would have managed the situation flawlessly_, she imagined with little remorse, _Emperor guide his soul. _

…it was just his time, nobody lasts in this place, and she duly began to wonder how long until her fate would be sealed.

Dr. Julian, soft-spoken in his senior years, wheezed and asked again what the chuckle was about. She broke from her daze looked at him with slight sympathy, shrugging, "Never mind…"

She smiled slightly at Dr. Julian, being ever so simple minded, soft and just a little senile, he merely turned away and walked towards the medical tray. She concluded that Dr. Julian was not the type who really appreciates these kind of things, these little quirks of fate…but she thought again, maybe she should try…give the old man the benefit of the doubt, he does not have long to live anyway, maybe he would finally laugh under his gloomy shell.

_Koch,_his face returned to her head and she suddenly looked tired, he would have shared her sentiment, maybe even make him laugh, sport a smile and be the least bitter about it, maybe even making some intelligent remarks… such was the beauty in such a dreaded place, she thought… she wondered when she could meet him again, just to share life's little mysteries.

Even the thought excited her slightly.

"Dr Damien," Dr. Julian returned with a set of intravenous drip, "What do we do?"

She lashed her head back and met his eyes with slight guilt, for a moment, she had forsaken the patient lying on the bed. Unwittingly assuming Dr. Mohmar's role, she suddenly became more conscious of her duties and decided she should be more worried if Calsus had fully understood the options presented by Brother Kisex.

She cleared her throat and refocused.

"There is no other choice, is there?" she coughed slightly, "We filed for a double-guard and we only need time until administration approves it."

She could sense something crossed Dr. Julian's head, she would not argue that it did not occur to her too. She checked the time, it was half past 6 and Calsus had not had his prescribed fluids since noon. Intravenous therapy should have been fully set-up half-an hour ago, keeping him hydrated, they could do it themselves but who was to stop him from his murderous rampage should the incident recur?

"Maybe you should go and speed things up, Administrator Lecroix might be of help." Dr. Damien suggested.

He looked down towards the floor and smacked his lips, coughing slightly, "Lecroix, Emperor save us if we ever run out of Iod X, won't take a day before he starts having his withdrawals. He's using it way too much…" he turned and walked out, "Good idea by the way, I wonder why I hadn't thought of that?" Dr. Julian darted his eyes to the corner for a brief second, hardly waiting for a response before turning away, walking out of the door.

Dr. Damien turned towards Calsus, the stoutly built soldier's blank stare betrayed the truthfulness of his weakening mind. His face twitched occasionally in response to the pain generated by moving the bionic fingers.

She searched the room for the nearest chair, pulled it, and sat beside his bed to his right with her legs crossed, making an effort to analyze the character. She was, unfortunately, not a psychology specialist…the Temple claimed they did not need one, they did not have the time to cure the insane, the weak-willed.

But she had to try anyway.

"Lance Corporal de Marche," she called out, but received the same stoic look. She breathed a sigh, and tried again, "Lance Corporal Calsus de Marche?"

No response.

"Can you hear me Lance Corporal?" she tried again, she felt rather stupid.

She waited as she looked into the soldier's dilated pupils, leaning forward and removed a small torch from her breast pocket, turned the knob and produced a stream of light. She flashed it over his eyes with no response - mentally passive, had he given up? Were there no more reasons to live? A mere consequences of Type-D Epinephrine?

She pressed her right index and middle fingers together, curling the rest inwards and laid it on his wrist, checking for his pulse and timed it.

The pulse was steady, he was calm.

She snapped her fingers back immediately as she heard Calsus gurgled; breaking into a small cough, his body jittered for a brief second, before settling down again. His bionic fingers moved, accompanied by the same pained expression.

"The artificial Gerisian nerves had not acclimatized to the body system …" she whispered lowly, half-expecting Calsus to understand or hear what she was saying, she wanted to continue saying the pain would take at least several months to completely subside, but decided it was pointless.

His breathing was still normal and looked mildly sedated, thoughts of administrating Calsus became increasingly irresistible. She hesitated, sat down for awhile, before standing up and walked into the corridor to see if anybody was around. There was not another minute for her to bear, his sanity was waning by the second and there was nothing holding her back but her own courage.

She returned to the room and saw the medical tray, and pushed it to Calsus's side, she prepared some cottons, disinfectant alcohol, needles and apparatuses to be spearhead his healing process.

She dabbed the cotton with disinfectant, filling the room with the scent of alcohol, soaking Calsus at the base of his base of his bicep before tapping his nerves several times...surging the spot with blood and popping out the veins.

A fresh pack was ripped open, containing a sharp needle, assembling it to the sterile tubes and poked to a drip chamber. She hanged it to the stand beside the bed and held up the needle, readying for the pack of saline to be flowed into Calsus's body.

Her palms sweated slightly as she gently touched Calsus arm, slowly applying pressure to her fingers over his skin, their heartbeats increasing synonymously, reading each other's nervousness and anxiety. Her other hand held the needle, its sharp metal dangling over the insertion point, ready to bite into his flesh.

_Last chance to withdraw, _her sensibility advised, but it was unheard. Responsibility was all she could feel when the needle pierced the soldier's skin, slowly through the flesh and into the meat, nearly connecting to the veins when she felt a thump to her heart, a shock…her vision captured a sudden, violent movement that shook the entire room and caused her to squeal and scream. She tried backing off, but her hand was caught by a powerful, iron grip.

It happened fast, she could feel her wrist slowly being crushed, before it was released…only to feel the roots of her hair being jerked forcefully, swung around and disorientated. Her head flailed from side to side and her head slammed into the bed, everything faded to black under the cover of her eyelids Before she knows it, she felt a cold sharp steel pushed and gnawed against her right cornea, the needle and the eye separated only by skin of just a fraction of a millimeter thin.

Tears of terror broke, and her rigid muscle tensed and trembled without control…she could not resist, could not fight back or utter a single word.

"Ple….Please…no…" she begged in between gasps, hearing only her own sobs…the frantic beat of her heart, the weakness of her knees and the hesitating heavy huff of the soldier's breathing.

She whimpered, and whimpered still, expecting her eyeballs to be impaled by the needle…possibly murdered the same way as Dr. Mohmar did.

It was her time after all…much sooner than she expected.

But she waited, waited…waited for pain and terror, waited for torture…but it did not come…she felt his grip loosened and relieved slightly. And she began to breath again, opening a single eyelid and saw Calsus gritting his teeth, his pupils less dilated, lingered with what little compassion that was keeping him from losing his sanity. For that very single moment, she could sense his torment, his fighting instinct in the most primitive form, salvaged by his conscience.

His fierce gaze, his fears, his humanity…all from that one moment of hesitation.

There was a moment of silence between the two…

Silence…

A black object moved from the corner of her eyes, a heavy metal object that came thundering into the tense picture, smashing into the face of her aggressor. She heard bones cracked, saw blood spat into the open air, and felt the grip released from her hair. Her body was grabbed from the back and pulled away, and before long, the full vision of the two armed guards appeared before Calsus, lifting their weapons high and drove the butts into the soldier, bludgeoning the soldier where he lie.

She could not see what was happening to Calsus, only hearing thuds, and cries of curses from the guards, coated with triumph and satisfaction... the cruel gratification increasing with every bloody strike.

"No!" she cried out instinctively, attempting to pull herself away from the heavy, metal grip. The nightmare unraveled before her, everything went in slow motion, powerless when Calsus's blood danced and followed the weapons' movement, when they held their weapons as high as they could, and poured every strength and sunk them into Calsus's flesh …

…repeatedly, and the blood spilled like it was a fountain… dripping from underneath the bed.

She nearly stopped breathing, and screamed… "NOOOO!!!"

It fell on the guards' deaf ears, indulging themselves in savage frenzy. And Brother Kisex, restraining Dr. Damien, did nothing but watched on.

"NOOOOOOO!!!! STOOOOOP!!!!" she turned and hammered her fist into Brother Kisex's chest, struggling to break free of his powerful grasp.

She did not know how long she had struggled for, twisting her body and tried to snake out.

Thud...thud, the beating turned into a steady, violent rhythm.

She screamed...and struggled tirelessly.

By a slip, she was released a little, her hands reaching out to Calsus, but was pulled back again. She slumped to the floor and dragged herself to the bed pathetically, causing Brother Kisex to finally let her go. The floor marked her skin with scrapes as she crawled right through, pushing the two guards aside as she reached the base of the bed, climbing over to shelter Calsus from any further beatings.

The two guards halted their assaults, as soon as they saw the doctor's body laying over the bloody soldier. Her hands trembled and held over Calsus's broken face, and sensed that he was breathing, but was already unconscious. "Sorry...sorry," she cried guiltily...she should have known better. But she looked at his battered body, and her heart burned, throwing her fierce gaze back towards Brother Kisex, with tears running down her pale cheeks.

Both of them traded stares for a full 20 seconds, and none of them contained a single word.

"What are you doing, Dr. Damien?" Brother Kisex spoke finally.

Dr. Damien breathed louder and faster, mixing a well of emotions that sent her chest heaving. She could not think of anything concise or rational to say to Brother Kisex.

"It seems you have a problem with my methods…" Brother Kisex upholstered his laspistol, "No matter." He began walking forward

"You might have your so called… 'professional responsibilities'…to adhere to, but it won't make a difference…there weren't supposed to be any second chances to begin with," he stood before the doctor and waved the weapon to his side, "He shan't be receiving a third… stand aside."

Dr. Damien's heart pumped harder.

"Stand aside!!!" his voice boomed.

"This is just vengeance to you, isn't it?" she tasted her salty tears from her bottom lip, "…vengeance…vengeance," she murmured to herself as she looked at the two guards, her eyes reflected enlightenment.

Brother Kisex breathing was becoming increasingly audible.

"You…" she breathed in, "It's because he was able to breach your security, isn't it?"

Your immeasurable ego is wounded, and now you're just looking for ways to aggravate the Lance Corporal, aren't you!? In spite of the High Priest's order to sustain his life!!" she screamed, "You fully knew what Type-D Epinephrine could do to him, yet you insisted!

You're simply looking for reasons to kill him!!!" she yelled, "…because a 'mere' soldier like him could compromise your securi…"

"KNOW YOUR PLACE BITCH!" Brother Kisex boomed back, putting her in pause.

"I'm fully aware where my voice stands," she scowled, "…but Father Horatius would be thoroughly disappointed to know of your injudicious contempt and incompetence."

Brother Kisex remained quiet…breathed like a howling tempest through the vox-cast…his fists balled…growling madly.

He looked to his back and saw Dr. Julian, staring at his own feet.

"THIS ISN'T OVER," he roared, "I PROMISE YOU."

"ONE WEEK," Brother Kisex uttered, "…IF HE DOESN'T RECOVER IN A WEEK, HE'S AS GOOD AS DEAD."

"Let's go…" Brother Kisex growled and walked away, the two guards followed suit, one of them spat at the bottom of the bed while sporting a smirk.

Dr. Damien looked towards Calsus, turning purple, bruised and bloody…gashes opened all over his upper torso with a bad cut over his upper lip. She tried hard her best to breath, before she dashed out of the room and screamed orders into Dr. Julian's ears… she watched her colleague scrambled before she started pacing around, hands clutched to her face while she whimpered uncontrollably…

_One week_, she tried not to wonder, but she wondered still...if he could even survive the night.

xxx

Sour and bitterness was all he could taste… it was worst than eating sand scorpions, or week-old bread…at least they were solid food he could chew on, not just grimy, processed food made into paste, conveniently condensed and squeezed from brown-colored tubes, straight into his mouth and down his digestive system. Four days… Four days of grueling training, four days of exhaustion, with nothing else but all this food-paste bullshit. He would have cooked himself, but if only he knew how.

"Tsk…"

In the mess hall, he sat alone at the far corner, silently watching as he chewed on steak flavored paste, he did not even know if it was real. Ahead, he saw the female group having their tube meals, whose names had already imprinted in his mind - Kira, Juydith and Vissa, the sluttish squad of three, with Kira, the Queen Bitch, being the leader of the little bitch army. Oh, how he wanted to just tear a hole in that tiny little uptight arse of hers; Juydith was the hottie, perky tits and a cute face…even with what little hair growing on top of her head; Vissa? Uglier than his cousin brother's mother-in-law's camel.

It was really just Juydith that he wanted to fuck, and Kira? He wanted to tie her up and give her a severe beating...imagining her face smashed on the black marble floor, then maybe he'll fuck her to finish her off. And thus, his desperation grew even more uncontrollable, as twice the occasion he followed them into the showers…spying on them in the midst of the thick fog, he wanted to touch them, taste their skin and blow his wad in them – but ultimately ended up masturbating to his own imaginations over a dozen of stalls away.

He was sure they knew of his presence, why else did they wanted to stick together?

"Tsk…"

He looked to his left and saw Jun-Kyi, Oswald and Rashid, the other three males of awkward companionship…they sat together at the same table, tired and worn from laborious day. All of them were ill at ease, sucking on their tubes, reluctantly exchanging words amongst themselves. _Fucking Oswald looked queer, homo… fuck the homos, they can burn and be fucked by Slaaneshi cultists…and Jun-Kyi – goddamn yellow-skins, they can suck the homos and die._ _Rashid? He looked like someone from Tallarn, but screw him, he looks fucking queer too._

_Fuck men who hang around other men._

"Tsk…"

Koch…

Koch was sitting alone on the other end of the hall as usual, did nothing but having a nap.

Now Koch, he was a mystery…everyone else looked to him with despise, and felt that he was as much of a social outcast than he was. And he could not quite get over the fact he night be playing with his head, the time when he was given the choice to execute two candidates of his choice. He remembered the look Koch gave him in the eye, it felt like pardon.

Was it pardon? He remembered saying something nasty about Koch the night everyone scrambled for a bed…the next morning, he looked more refreshed and alive than anyone else.

There was more to Koch than anyone might think.

For the past two days he had been observing him, doing the same thing, in the same pattern every evening...the moment everyone was done having their instant tube meals, Koch roused from his slumber and made his own dinner from ground up. Spending at least an hour for the whole cooking process, he could not help but to linger, tempted by the different aromas spouted from the pots and pans. He wished Koch could have made some leftovers; he could then salvage any remains…but Koch was always to precise, adequate…making portions just enough for himself, and he finished it clean. He washed all the dishes and placed it all back.

Such was his discipline, something that troubled him, and gave him this feeling of insecurity. He could not be sure if he hated Koch, but he did not think that he liked him either…none of the candidates did. But he would not underestimate Koch, he knew he had a sharp mind behind the svelte figure of his.

"Tsk…"

As usual, everyone finished their meals and wearily picked themselves up, heading back towards their individual rooms. Assir stayed around, hoping again that Koch would have some leftovers.

And Koch began his routine as soon as the last person left the hall…he moved to the cabinets and lined up four different spices, chopped some vegetables and boiled some potatoes. He opened the cans containing meat and poured them into a bowl, spices sprinkled over the red meat cubes to season. He proceeded to chop some red onions, and fried them in a oil heated pan.

The aroma dizzied Assir.

Soon, he conjured a pan of perfectly cooked meat, thick gravy sprinkled lightly with pepper to top the mash potatoes. He quietly sat down and ate his dinner.

It took Koch 20 minutes to finish his dinner, before he returned to the stove and produced another clean plate. Assir could not believe it, but Koch dumped more food out of the pots and pans and filled the plate with leftovers. Koch washed the unused cutleries, cleaned himself, tore a piece of paper towel and dabbed his lips clean. His other hand picked up the plate.

Assir's stomach rumbled, his saliva gushing down his throat.

Koch walked around the counter to the nearest table, and laid it down…his eyes met Assir, and without a smile, without a word, he turned, and walked out of the hall.

Assir, like a hungry animal, scrambled out of his chair and dashed towards the food. His heart surged with victory…his patience paid off.

xxx

Koch did not even need to look back to see Assir was gorging down every particle of food left on the plate.

_Another task completed, _he crossed out from his mental list as he made his way to the laundry room.

He continued walking down the corridor, tapping his pouch to check if his equipment was there. It was tonight, when he would meet Seac'kre…


	22. Chapter 19: Arrival

Author's Preamble: My PC has arrived, new place is nearly finished and decorated, work sucks...completing another chapter is like a crowning achievement. I feel whole again.

My apologies for the long wait...but I think I've been doing that way too often, I think I'll just accept myself being lazy.

In any case, enjoy!

P/S: Conveying a heartfelt gratitude and appreciation to:

Demonbrotherofdarkness for his continuous support and constant reviews of encouragement.

Spartan 777 for being so patient + the incredible reviews

Brother Gideon, its feels good reading your reviews, brightens up my day

And to all that had left reviews and enjoyed the story so far, cheers...I remember all of your names and your reviews, you all are my favorite readers.

* * *

**XIX – Arrival**

"_Against my strong disapproval for idle chat, I'll commend you this much for showing up, in spite of the short notice."_

"_...uh...uuhm...thank you..."_

"_What news do you bring?"_

"_Uh...I've...heh...seems, ehrgh! Seems...seems like we're not the only ones who's bearing a grudge to the Praetorian..."_

"_Calsus de Marche?"_

"_Calsus? Yeah...Calsus, ehrgh! Ira and his boys gave the Praetorian a good bash after he attempted to strike the people from the Apothecary. Said he turned purple now...hee hee hee, ehrgh, ehrgh, ehrgh!"_

"_Ira? That is High Gothic for 'anger', is it not? Who are you referring to?"_

"_O...ooh...Ira is just a nickname, for Brother Kisex, he's the head for Security detail with a big head and a short fuse to match. Wouldn't want a failed Eversor experiment to catch us talking behind his back, not since what he did to Qwimby and Rbants..."_

"_Tell me more about this Brother Kisex, or Ira."_

"_Yes, using 'Ira' would be good from now, uh..uh...ehrgh! His arse might as hard as brass, even without that power armour of his, but his brain as soft as mush. Nevertheless, I don't claim I know much about Ira...but I heard he had been giving other parts of the Temple a lot of trouble, especially the Apothecary, ehrgh! Otherwise, he was here a little longer than I have...that would be, four years."_

"_Head of security...how does he fit into the training?"_

"_EHRGH! I'm the wrong person to ask, I know next to nothing about what you guys do...other than what you people did in the Cruciamentum Sanctinus."_

"_What about you? What were you doing before you came here?"_

"_Me? As the same for Ira, except I was serviced to the Callidus Temple. Difference is, I was just a cleaner back then...then somehow, after two years I was transferred out of there to Vindicare. Less dirtier tasks and better perks..ehrgh! If you have to know...warm bodies instead of rotting limp ones, heheh. They said the Emperor curses those that get favours from Daemons and Cultists...but whats there to be afraid of, the Emperor himself seemed to have taken a shit on my face when I was born."_

"_Do you know anything about Valaruz 17th then?"_

"_Eh? Valaruz 17th? Never heard anything like that."_

"_You haven't met any of the Assassins?"_

"_I've ventured only three times out of the Sanctinus, ehrgh!"_

"_Would we be going back to Sanctinus?"_

"_Unlikely, but unless the Commissar has something different in her mind. Oooh...the Commissar, a little old, but still looks very tight..."_

"_What about the bodies of..."_

"_What do you think of the Commissars? I know the other three candidates would put her sagging pussy to dust, but still you have to admit..."_

"_Seac'kre..."_

"_...that there's something about her feistiness you wanna put a leash on..."_

"_Seac'kre..."_

"_Umm...ehrgh, ehrgh! Yes?"_

"_I won't underestimate your intelligence by assuming you are oblivious to the consequences of this meeting, but you are aware that if someone, so much as to think we are associated, both yours and my life expectancies will be severely shortened?" _

"_We're just...we're just...talking about..."_

"_You're blatantly ignoring what I said, I've been waking up at four every morning for a thorough physical training, followed by six hours of Attention training that puts a current through my body every time my attention strays, and I've been put through a lot of punishments by thinking of questions that you might able to answer. It is 0125, I'm due to start my day in less than three hours and I still have not got single useful information out from you."_

"_..."_

"_Now... what about those the previous batch of survivors of the Sanctinus? What happened to them afterwards? Have you ever taken a look at their bodies? Do you know where they are stored?"_

"_Ehrgh! Ehrgh! The...their bodies usually get cremated. Aeh, aeh, and I don't really know where they are stored."_

"_What bout Doctor Ally Damien?"_

"_Doctor... Ally Damien? Fr...ergrh! Ergrh! From the Apothecary?"_

"_Yes, that's the one."_

"_Uh...uh...uhmmm...o...oh ye...yeah...there was something I heard, it is interesting to me, but although I don't think you would be that interested to know..."_

"_Just tell me..."_

"_They... ehrgh,ehrgh, said the Doctor Ally has..."_

"_Yes...?"_

"_..."_

"_Yes, Seac'kre?"_

"_Wh...why do you want to know...?"_

"_Excuse me?"_

"_What are the reasons that you want to know about the Doctor?"_

"_It doesn't concern you..."_

"_I...I'm just...just curious..."_

"_..."_

"_..."_

"_Doctor Damien... seems to have some knowledge about what transpires in the Temple, more than anyone currently accessible by me."_

"_..."_

"_...for some reason she is less than willing to divulge information. She spoke something about a Curriculum. Do you know anything about it?"_

"_No..no...ehrgh, ehrgh! Nothing of the sort."_

"_It's a kind of training schedule to my understanding. And I was also told of a disclosure policy that forbids the Temple's staff from leaking information, it seems improbable, because enforcing such a policy would require a large amount of policing, which from what I've observed is rather lacking."_

"_I wasn't told of such a thing.." _

"_I see...in any case, there are too little information and leads, and would be presumptuous for me to draw any hypothesis or theories about the existence of the curriculum. What it does tell me is that Dr. Damien knows something, and so do you."_

"_..."_

"_Time is running out, Seac'kre..."_

"_Yo...ehrgh! Ehrgh! You know what, Koch?"_

"_..."_

"_It...it...it seems like it's all business to you...ehrgh! Then I'll be clear...clear...to you too..."_

"_Go on."_

"_You...you appear to...to be slightly desperate, uhm..ehrgh, ehrgh! How do I put this?"_

"_..."_

"_You appear...pear...to be desperate, and you...you haven't given me anything...thing...yet...as you had promised."_

"_..."_

"_What I have...about Doctor Damien may be very helpful to you, but, but ehrgh, ehrgh! This information stays with me unless I get something in return first...like you had promised before."_

"_..."_

"_..."_

"_Fair enough. But you do realize, what you ask for puts us in an impasse?" _

"_Im...impasse?"_

"_Stalemate, meaning none of us can advance towards our benefit."_

"_..."_

"_Let us talk sense. First of all, I'm in a position where I don't know anything about temple. Any short-termed, ill-informed actions I take, which includes recklessly providing the girls to you would compromise my position and ultimately result in premature gains for you. _

_And the girls, admittedly, is proving to be a challenge in certain aspects of our training, it would be in my best interest if they were demoralized in the time of crucial events that would swing fullest to my favour. But as yet, our trainers tell us very little of what our programme is like, but if I knew what the curriculum is, when and what the training programmes are, or gain enough information, I would be able to coordinate a plan that would enable the girls to… 'disappear'… forever. _

_Time grows short, I'm not going proceed accomplishing tasks that might put sever what I've worked towards. And I've told you before, what you want would benefit me just as much. Compromise, and it will speed up to achieving our objectives, and we will get what we want."_

"_..."_

"_It all starts with Dr. Damien Seac'kre, waste time no more and give me the information and I promise you my plans are for you to share and hear as well."_

"_...ehrgh, ehrgh, well..."_

"_..."_

"_At least…"_

"_No…you're not listening Seac'kre, I am not going to make a move unless I know it is absolutely fool proof, for both you and I."_

"_..."_

"_O...okay."_

"…_yes, and about Doctor Ally Damien." _

"_Ehrgh! Ehrgh! About Doctor DamienI...I...I...I'm not sure of the full details, and...I wasn't lying from before, it was just.. ehrgh, ehrgh, ehrgh! Just that...it didn't cross my mind."_

"_Go on."_

"_From what I heard, ehrgh, ehrgh, ehrgh, Dr. Damien was treating one of my colleagues' attack wounds from one of the prisoners. But before she could finish the stitch, a man, strongly built, lean, and muscular walked through the door, he was dressed in a grey suit with a huge gun slinged to his back. His mask...without a doubt, could only be the mask that hides the identity of the Vindicare. _

_He spoke in an eerily, screeching, synthesized voice, saying only, 'Times up,' that got him scrambling out of the door. _

_But of course, curiosity got the better of him and turned to peek through the opening of the blinds of a glass window, when he saw the Doctor and the Assassin's distance grew shorter. _

_The Assassin removed his gun, and unlatched his helm-mask, revealing only the back of his head full of black hair, striding forward and had her in his grasp, quickly turning the encounter into a fuck._

_In the heat of passion, he heard voices as the both of them trashed the room, the Doctor moaned a number, 'Seventeen'..."_

"_Sounds reasonably plausible to be Valaruz 17th."_

"_..."_

"_And you have never seen the Assassin yourself?"_

"_N...no..."_

"_..."_

"_So..."_

"_Yes?"_

"_...was it any useful?"_

"_Yes, it does explain her hesitance to release information."_

"_..."_

"_Emotions dominantly govern the female's thinking pattern, playing a vital role in ruling their judgments. If there are any sort relationship between Valaruz 17th and Doctor Damien, it is safe to assume that Doctor Damien is merely being protective of her...love...interest. Also, it is possible that in reaction of a perceived threat, her natural protective instinct worked to conjure a lie about the disclosure policy."_

"_..."_

"_It would also mean so much more if the discretion policy wasn't in place...but I would not venture to that possibility just yet. The immediate objective is to bridge trust from the Doctor, then we'll move from there."_

"_..."_

"_Are there anything else I should know?"_

"_Ehrgh, ehrgh...umm...n...no...no...I can't think of any right now."_

"_Very well then, in that case that'll be all for now. I'll contact you when the time is right."_

xxx

The roaring quad-plasma propulsion drive screamed mutedly across the isolated sector of the endless space, steering around the fiery ball of fire; passed a meteorite field, several uninhabited planets and finally towards a relatively small planet.

"Anytime now..." he muttered morosely as he sat upright in his bunk, preoccupying his thoughts by estimating how far long until touchdown.

_Boom!_ The minimalist, windowless bunker rattled and shook as it dove into the outer atmosphere, the friction and sheer speed stirred the small ship, engulfing the exterior in flames. He always tried to imagine in vividness how it would look like from the outside, or maybe how the planet would look like if he would look out from a window.

It was 0833, the sun should be hanging low towards the Eastern mountainous range where they would land...and he pictured the single continent and the vast ocean from his vantage point, nature in its glory, held by the tiny planet...it would be a rather spectacular view, a pleasant one. It was a picture he imagined for the 179th time, and it would have be a wholesome, picturesque moment if it were not for the monstrous building that always seemed to mar his momentary imaginary perfection. He could already picture the sinister exterior of the temple, its foundations rooted to the tainted earth with unspeakable horrors screaming from within. The familiar taste of bitter bile came surging in his throat, recalling vividly the disgust and the dread whenever he step out of the ship with a full view of blackish Vindicare Temple, to return to reality and to relive his curse.

"Sir?" the intercom buzzed, "Valaruz 17th sir? Welcome home."

He stared straight into nothingness.

xxx

"Alright ladies, the time is 0850!" Drill-sergeant Lark, dressed in white t-shirt and combat fatigues, screamed to the crowd of eight that stood in line, their sweat fresh from morning physical training, out in the courtyard in the obstacle course spanning approximately five hundred square metres northwest from the black towering Temple.

From the ground, climbing three flights of stairs, which amounted to a total of two hundred steps, would bring one towards closer to study the ornate carvings on the massive Temple gates; on the arches that held the arcades and outer naves; on sharp, spiking flying buttresses that held the high stone walls that reached a hundred feet high.

Although perspired and drenched by the five hours of training, Kira stood firmly to the muddy ground with her attention undivided. Every moment spent with the Temple in her sight fueled her with a mysterious, spiritual energy and fervent ambition. She sought every moment to stay ahead to prove herself and to their trainers that she was the best.

To her left stood Juydith and Vissa, they had never left her side ever since the trials in the torture chamber. Now most of their tasks were spent in each other's company. Vissa was the chattier one, Juydith had a slight arrogant flair just as Kira did, and both claimed to be outstanding marksman in their regiment. Kira merely listened, never commenting nor participated in that conversation.

But for that matter, she hardly ever said anything, for she did not feel the necessity to share her past, her weaknesses, her ambitions nor her accomplishments to any of them. Instead, she felt apprehension and slightly challenged by Vissa and Juydith. She could not even begin to imagine how they would react if she had told them she had never fired a long-ranged rifle during the course of her entire military career.

It was by her father that she is here, she was well known to be an excellent soldier, but what would become of her when the sniper training started would be anyone's guess...when her weakness drawn out into the open, when her greatest disadvantage revealed. Hence she ran harder, climbed faster and increased her cardio whenever possible, just to stay ahead.

Assir, standing to her far left, was assessed to be her imminent threat. He was built much stronger, tougher and seemed more driven. Every training session was strained with a brooding tension generated both Kira and Assir…she excelled in the obstacle course, as a cause of her nimble footwork, agile frame and elite training; Assir, on the other hand, surpassed her in the endurance training, contributed by his enormous stamina.

And to that extent, she was feeling increasingly pressured, knowing that he was an accomplished marksman as well.

Koch, she had begun to take less notice of him as his performance was judged to be sub-par. He tire easily, and he was not as physically fit as the rest. On one occasion, she spotted him injecting a certain substance into his system…and began to wonder if he was ill, or he was merely relying on drugs to sustain his performance.

Nevertheless, she was well ahead, for now...

"The training session for this morning will be cut short for a briefing! You would now be handed back to Major-Commissar Jh'nerolaz for further instructions." Drill-sergeant Lark yelled again.

"Commissar?" Lark turned to acknowledge the Commissar as he turned and dismissed himself.

"At ease soldiers," she ordered, studying each and one of them, "Today is the fifth day into training, and from today onwards we will be taking one step forward into the programme."

Kira took a deep breath.

"We will begin arms and weapons trainings, which includes classroom lessons as well practical trainings in the firing range. You will be required learn, understand and operate over three hundred types of weapons as well as mastering the knowledge and applications of the various sorts of ammunitions.

Shells, bolters, Melta, Plasma, Lasers, psychic-charges; their ranges, advantages and disadvantages. These are vital and mandatory knowledge in the art of the Vindicare." The Commissar paused, "Your arms training will begin in 60 minutes."

"And today is a special day," she shifted her gaze from soldier to soldier, assessing their attention level, which seem to have increased significantly as result of the NETU enhancer, "You would have the opportunity to set your eyes for the first time upon our most prized Assassin, who is about to land from his Holy Mission in Xesxes.

Valaruz 17th, bear this name in your mind, for he is the benchmark and standard which you must surpass. You would need to have an insatiable thirst to defeat him, to loathe, to bear awe and respect, for Valaruz 17th is a prodigy, the Vindicare Assassin of all Vindicare Assassins, and the beloved son of the Emperor that had not failed 179 of the missions assigned to him.

His silver bullets always deliver the killing stroke, his rifle never swayed from its path even under the stacking odds...and his mind possesses an unbreakable focus that drives him to achieve superiority. Breaking the record by staying stationary for 122 hours, 43 minutes and 20 seconds, hitting 589 training targets consecutively within a distance of three kilometers.

Bear his name in your mind, for desiring anything less than to surpass him would result in your failure." The Commissar turned to her back to the distant hum of a spacecraft, spotting it descending slowly from the sky to the elevated landing port four hundred meters west from the temple, connected directly by a strip of metal bridge to the outer cloister.

Everybody else lifted their heads upwards and traced her sight, and saw the High Priest appearing on the other end of bridge, flanked by Brother Kisex and two other Guards, waiting for the ship to land.

And the small craft finally touched the ground, the exit hatch opened with a short flight of stairs unfolded, touching the metal surface.

The survivors waited anxiously to catch a glimpse of the Assassin, and their eyes remained affixed to the craft almost at a distance of a kilometer away…

Suddenly, everyone experienced a shiver down their spine...the figure - lean, muscular and almost invisible in a dullish, harmless grey hue, was spotted over a quarter over the bridge, almost as if he appeared from thin air… now stood still with both of his arms bearing the revered, Holy and utterly terrifying Exitus.

And even at so far a distance, it was difficult averting the blank, menacingly emotionless glint of the Assassin's Spymask, the emptiness of his gaze screeched a fear deep into an uncontrollable domain of their instincts. Their hair raised, feet taking a step back, their heartbeats paused…to the sudden realization of futility, to the realization that the test had only just begun...the seemingly impossible odds to surpass Valaruz 17th.


	23. Chapter 20: DemiGod

Author's Note: This chapter was incredibly challenging to pen down, as you can already imagine from the almost nine-month delay. Also, it hasn't exactly been a golden time in my real life.

Regardless, have a good read and enjoy. Apologies to all for the wait.

..DISORDER: My apologies for the not updating soon enough. And as for Pilo, I'm afraid there are some fates that will never find closure.

Changes: An elemental change to the story – Father Horatius's name changed to Father Ozmattix.

* * *

**XX – Demi-God**

_The sudden gust of wind did not sway the Assassin's locking gaze. His head tilted downwards with the stillness of a statue, locked with surreal silence and unflinching patience that was far becoming unbearable to those being watched._

_There the assassin stood, encompassing all that Kira knew to be the Assassin's prominence – patience, stillness and calm. It was the commanding characteristics of the Assassin, the ingredients of the mortar that binds the Assassin to his Holy Duty, and to the fearsome Exitus. She could already feel what it was doing to her, evoking memories from the first day when the Priest stood before them, his finger held over them in judgment. _

_And it was similar…the same stoic features, the devices that delivered verdicts, the remorseless decision conveyed through a single motor movement – the raise of a single finger, the squeeze of the trigger. _

Death and duty_, her Captain's visage flashed before her memories, grimly saying those words while keeping a straight, frightened face, waiting for an inevitable Dark Eldar onslaught on an escort duty towards Ishidan IV just several weeks ago. _

_She found it difficult to keep her breathing steady, her head dizzied, and her mind wandered erratically. She was to challenge an Assassin whose experiences outrank her many fold, one claimed to be the elite of all other Assassins… a prodigy._

_And who was she to stand here? A mere Sergeant who was only here by her father's influence… whose skill sets probably barely even skim the basic requirement that of an Assassin, whose confidence had already been shattered just by being in the presence of the Emperor's favorite son, a Demi-God. _

_The Angel of Death_

_And who was she? A mere Sergeant to prove what little worth she had to a proven Assassin, one that had earned beyond the Emperor's favor to bear the mantle of His vengeance…serving as the Holy weapon that had, time and again, struck fear and wrath of the Emperor into the minds of His subjects, slicing into the hearts of His enemies._

_It was beyond words, beyond her understanding, her comprehension, to realize who she was, why she was standing here this day. Everything muddled into a murky blur as she attempted to divine her fate and faith on this Holy Ground._

_Who was she to become the embodiment of His Divine Intervention? To transcend into the very Angel that stood so close before her?_

_xxx_

_Nothing had changed._

_Nothing had changed… the words were floating somewhere within his head, the three words that would calm him and set him to think straight as he had always would. There were almost half a dozen emotions that enveloped his nerves. There was low esteem, there was reduction in confidence, there was uncertainty, there was doubt._

_There was fear._

_He hated the state he was in, abstract and subjective and unconsciously detesting himself to have resigned into such weakness. But there was more than just a blank gaze from beyond the empty visor. The figure that stood before him was more than just a man. Valaruz 17__th__. _

_Being the Vindicare Assassin was the reason why he had strived like he had - the stimulus for all his deception, his ruthlessness. All the decisions he made till date was to pave a road to that destination – to victory. _

_He believed himself different from day one, always a step ahead of the other candidates, bearing the talent of seeing things that were not there. Scheming against all the obvious. He understood and was well versed with systems. _

_Or so he thought. _

_But now, someone, a living proof, was already over the finishing point. He would see all that he sees. A single glance, and his schemes, his plans are all exposed and drawn out naked and defenseless. _

_Valaruz 17__th__. He is watching._

_But he shrug to his own fears, he knew all that he was feeling was an effect from intimidation - it a powerful magnet of a weapon to draw out bare, human instincts. _

_He breathed in. His back began to drench heavily in sweat from the morning's training, his heart burned with fatigue. And although he was coaxing himself to a calm, blood failed to surge into his head to untangle the logical knots that the Commissar had weaved._

"…_benchmark and standard to surpass…"_

"…_to loathe, to bear awe and respect…"_

"…_fear…"_

"…_surpass…"_

"…_desiring anything less than to surpass him would result in your failure…."_

"…_failure…"_

_It all came flooding into his head… the speech, the words that contained such simple, betraying insinuations that contradicted the bulk of his conjecture and assumptions about the recruitment programme. _

"_Benchmark, standard, surpass" – a benchmark that already exist…are they strictly physical tests?_

"_Prodigy", it could mean that Valaruz 17__th__ was chosen based on his inherent, specific skill sets, which would mean the subsequent Assassins would be required to follow in the performance and skills set by the Valaruz 17__th__. And that, he was considered the elite in the entire Vindicare arm. _

_What are the criteria set by the Assassinorum? How long would they be trained before they are pitted against Valaruz 17__th__? What are the tests like? Are all this mere physical compatibility tests? Was his intellect and schemes sufficient? Does he have to work twice as hard to catch up to the other more physically adept candidates?_

_Were all his suspicions nothing but delusions? Were all his inquiries nothing but wasteful attempts?_

_He immediately shifted his already laid out plans around in his head to make more time for physical trainings…but stopped and reconsidered his doubts…there were many more evidence that supported his previous conjectures. _

_But in that single moment, his face became worn and tired. His shoulders slouched slightly…_

_The logical web was growing too thick, too muddled...too conflicted. _

_At that single moment, as his eyes remained affixed to Valaruz 17__th__, he felt….exhaustion._

* * *

Millions of Sylenus quadfibers, weaved throughout the Systemis carapace, drew energy from ten trilaced capacitor panels positioned to the back of the helm, over the shoulders, chest, arms and thighs… capable of generating up to 3 kilowatt per second depending on the weather condition and the activation of the Reflective Cryptic Coloration Cells (RCC Cells). A single strand of Assassinorum-engineered Sylenus fiber was three millimeters thin, extracting properties (in its main) from plastene, trialsylenine and diaglass – integrated to withstand temperature up to 293 degree Celsius; at the same time retaining flexibility, lightness and tensilic strength up to 6700 MPa. The core of the quadfiber strand served as conduit for propulses to transfer between the electronodes to the processor, or to the lining and to the outer layer insulated by organic RCC Cells.

The central processing unit, the Vindicaris 227, bridges and synchronizes functions between the user, Exitus, Spy Mask and the Camo suit, with its main function varies from measuring temperature, heat adjustment, adaptive coloration to life signal detection through the millions of electronodes placed over every square nanometer of the suit. The physical unit resembles a square sheet of paper of a 200mm long and wide, surgically inserted and replaced into a part of the Assassin's cranium, connected to the spine and through the back of the neck where it would be linked to the interchange located at the back of the Camo suit. The interchange functioned as a central node to gather and dispense data to the Sylenus fibers. The circuit and the system were then completed by connecting to the Spy Mask for interfacing. The Spy Mask, powered by the X34 operating system, had a secondary processing unit that powered communication protocols - programs that assisted targeting retinues, the hostility gauge, facial recognition system as well as Planetary Precision Positioning System.

Humidity and temperatures were picked up by electronodes that formed the base of the RCC cells, where it also served as receptors that were powered by propulses to provide optimal heating/cooling for the host.

The X34 system registered the current temperature and humidity at 32 degree Celcius at 43.78%RH, automatically adjusting the suit temperature and dryness/dampness. The IDX5, an identification programme, filtered and picked up a specific neural pattern from brainwaves recorded from the Vindicaris 227. Protocols initiated the Argus oversight that hung over the Spy Mask to reflect Valaruz 17th's irises and identified the Object-in-Focus (OIF). IDX5 then ran a facial recognition programme than regstered the OIFs that had duration of more 1.5 seconds. Eight organic lifeforms were detected, capturing their faces while running a trace through the internal Assassinorum's database, retrieving matches for all the organic life forms detected. Threat assessment were checked and labeled as according. Within the Spy Mask, on the upper right corner of the Triatline visor, the X34 interface opened a window where a brief summary of matched profiles and background were quickly cycled in a random order:

*Flip*

Race: Human, Male  
Hagen Oswald  
Age: 23  
Birthplace: Planet 87  
Regiment: Cadian Shock Troopers  
Enrolment: Drafted  
Notable Strength(s): Sharpshooting, Survival

Accomplishments: Patrol operation - elimination of six Chaos sergeant-ranked personnel (or equivalent) – decisive victory over 298th Mordant Campaign.

*Flip*

Race: Human, Male  
Jun-Kyi Moon  
Age: 26  
Birthplace: K-28 North  
Regiment: Valhalla  
Enrolment: Enlisted  
Notable Strength(s): Sharpshooting, Search and Destroy

Accomplishments: Traced and assassinated a squad of defect Kaskrin – elemental in disrupting Tau espionage activities.

*Flip*

Race: Human, Male  
Juydith Brithe Grusst  
Age: 24  
Birthplace: Vostroya  
Regiment: Vostroyan FirstBorn  
Enrolment: Enlisted  
Notable Strength(s): Sharpshooting

Accomplishments: Vital role in a counter-insurgency campaign against Gene-stealers cults, notably to the defense of Thule Outpost.

*Flip*

Race: Human, Female  
Kira Symmachus II  
Age:25  
Birthplace: Jantine  
Regiment: Jantine Patricians  
Enrolment: Enlisted  
Notable Strength(s): Squad Leadership, Urban Tactical Warfare

Accomplishments: Held off Dark Eldar raids with efficiency and exemplary tactics – secured High Profile subjects.

*Flip*

Race: Human, Female  
Vissa Kirkley  
Age: 24  
Birthplace: Planaris  
Regiment: Cadian Shock Troopers  
Notable Strength(s): Sharpshooting, First Aid  
Enrolment: Enlisted

Accomplishments: Outstanding marksmanship and first aid administration demonstrated in 24 platoon skirmishes.

*Flip*

Race: Human, Male  
Rashyid bin Sidyek  
Age: 25  
Birthplace: Tallarn  
Regiment: Tallarn Desert Riders  
Notable Strength(s): Sharpshooting, Ambush Tactics  
Enrolment: Drafted

Accomplishments: Crucial role in Skirmish TL3045ILK. Registered Highest Kill Count

*Flip*

Race: Human, Male  
Assir Mulazim  
Age: 27  
Birthplace: Tallarn  
Regiment: Tallarn Desert Riders  
Notable Strength(s): Sharpshooting, Covert Operations  
Enrolment: Enlisted

Accomplishments: Exceptional endurance, outstanding marksmanship. Vital in covert operations that crippled the Chaos insurgency in the Jeraxian campaign.

*Flip*

Race: Human, Male  
Koch Dessler

Age:……xxxxxxxxxxxx

***INDENTIFICATION PROCESS INTERUPTED***

***X34 OPERATING SYSTEM LOCKED DOWN***

***PRIORITY 1 DIRECTIVE: REPORT BACK TO VALARUZ TEMPLE***

***DOWNLOADING COORDINATES AND FULL EDICT***

xxx

_Download Complete_

Valaruz 17th breathed a sigh as he digested the contents of the Edict…details regarding of his 'misconduct' in Xesxes splurged on the screen as he read word for word. It seemed to him that while he was on his journey back, the Ordo Sicarius, an Ordo Minoris of the Inquisition charged specifically to observe the conducts of the Officio Assassinorum, had concluded that his actions in his latest mission are in breach of several Codices from the Ecclesiarch and Assassinorum alike.

Now the X34 operation system has been remotely locked, disconnected from the Assassinorum's servers and databases. He was effectively suspended.

He would be fully investigated and the extent of his competency would be fully audited by a panel of the Assassinorum and the Inquisition. It would probably take weeks before he would be cleared and be returned to duty. But that is, if he were to be cleared of all charges.

He took a deep breath and looked away from the eight candidates…their names and faces had already implanted in his memory, he would have to retrieve Koch Dessler's profile when his system returns back to normal. He turned around and walked towards his welcoming party of Father Ozmattix, the towering Brother Kisex and two other nervous Guards.

The canals of his mind flooded with hundreds of thoughts, he braced for confrontation.

He fast approached Father Ozmattix who wore the usual scowl that he had long learned to dismiss. And behind him, the witless failure of an Eversor experiment that was more of a pest than a genuine assistance in the Valaruz Temple. For as long as he could remember, Brother Kisex had always been a spiteful, begrudging man. Always waiting to verbally belittle the Assassin at every turn of an opportunity, but alas, he never had succeeded and insults were always returned tenfold.

True enough, as he approached closer, Brother Kisex, with crossed arms and peaking confidence, had the first draw.

"Valaruz 17th," smugness coated every single syllable, "It seems we can't trust you to get anything done right lately."

"Indeed," Valaruz 17th walked past Father Ozmattix and halted to a stop, just right next to the Security Patron, "…ironic that came from something of an Eversor's junk pile."

As expected, it jabbed Brother Kisex where it hurts the most. No weapons or fists flailed about, but his anger was evident through the long pause, even if his expression was hidden behind the bulk of metal.

"Valaruz 17th," Brother Kisex swallowed down as much anger as he could, realizing that a war of words was not something he can defeat Valaruz 17th by. He calmed himself and tried exuding composure, "With Directoris VII in effect, you are hereby suspended for duty under the charges of…"

"Save me from the blabbers you can hardly pronounce Kisex, I've read the Directives."

Brother's Kisex breathing howled louder now, the metals of his armor clinked incessantly from trembling, "…under the charges of misconduct and breaching of the Ecclesiarch and…"

"This is fucking giving me a headache," Valaruz 17th just waved the group off and walked on.

"THE EDICT RECITE HASN'T ENDED," Brother Kisex roared.

"I'm suspended, gotcha', now I'm off to take a shower, check if that's against the Edict."

"HRGHH, HRGHHHHH…." Brother Kisex clenched his fists as tightly as he could, looking to the two unnerved guards, "SECURE VALARUZ 17th! REMAND HIM!"

The guards' wits dropped as they found themselves hesitant, the order was baseless and uncalled for, and it was nothing but another round of his episodic rampage.

"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU WAITING FOR? VALARUZ 17 IS NOT COMPLYING WITH THE EDICT RECITE."

They looked towards each other, fearfully unconvinced and terrified of any reprisals. Brother Kisex was mental, but Valaruz 17th was just as dangerous with importance and value far above Brother Kisex's. One of them looked towards Father Ozmattix pleadingly, hoping for his intervention.

But Father Ozmattix's face was only etched with the same, unchanging expression.

The guard felt helpless and jittery, turning around with panic throbbing across his body… then his eyes caught a sudden splash, warm liquid splattered all across him. A streak of red painted his face.

His partner's head, bloodied, was in the full grasp of Brother's Kisex's monstrously large armored hand, with an index finger buried deep into the eye sockets and the thumb holding by the roof of the guard's mouth.

It took only a moment that he realized and registered the horror, the gruesome sight. The guard's mouth was gaped wide open, body heaving as he breathed, arms and legs limp…squealing pitifully. Brother Kisex pulled and hurled the victim of his rage off the edge.

Brother Kisex only stared at Valaruz 17th and said only once. "NOW."

The other guard whelped, his legs shook and made a wobbly dash towards Valaruz 17th. Half-knowing to be a futile attempt.

But before he could even touch the Assassin, Valaruz 17th, in a swift, smooth movement, side stepped, caught the guard's arm, and threw him to the ground. A knee came crashing down on force to the middle of his chest, sealing the primary bronchi and temporarily cutting off air the lungs. The guard was quickly incapacitated.

Valaruz 17th stood up slowly and glanced towards Brother Kisex.

"Try again."

The hulking man gritted his teeth and pulled out his Bolter from his holster, raising it in a raging fit to kill Valaruz 17th. As he aligned the weapon towards the arrogant assassin, his weapon already was knocked off of his hands, flying mid-air.

Valaruz 17th was holding out his arms, Exeter in his hand, emitting a little trail of smoke.

"The next shot would be to your empty skull." Valaruz 17th said unfazed.

"ARGGHHHHH!!!!" Brother Kisex roared as he dashed towards Valaruz 17th, arms lifted to pulverize him to the ground.

Valaruz 17th took aim. But before he could pull the trigger, the hulking giant was already slowing to a stop. The body was limped and disorientated. He got down to his knees, gasping deeply for breath while hands clutched to his head.

He wailed in pain.

"STOOOOP!!! STOOOOOP!!!!!" he cried, hands clawing and scratching the helm as if he wanted to rip his own brains out.

Valaruz 17th lowered the Exeter and shifted his attention to Father Ozmattix, standing over at a distance with his gaze remains affixed at Valaruz 17th. His scowl unchanging.

"Relief and clean yourself," Father Ozmattix spoke finally, "You are expected in my office by 1400."


	24. Chapter 21: Change

Announcement: The Assassin is officially looking for a Beta Reader with a keen eye for grammar and word flow. If you think you're right for the job, please send me a PM.

Author's Preamble: Another year, another chapter.

- Wishing a belated, Happy New Year to all, and may good fortune finds us all.

ATTN ALL READERS - In the midst of figuring out the story, an idea for an interlude suddenly fell from the sky and smashed into my brains. Yes, I am in middle of planning an elaborate (and hopefully exciting) interlude. I have to say I'm very thrilled with the idea BUT am unfortunately stuck with indecision. To give it a little spin, I'd thought I'd ask YOU (yes, the readers) to help me decide.

The dilemma lies within choosing which of the assassins to partake in the Interludes' mission – Valaruz 17th or 18th. I'm not currently planning to have the interlude give much weight to the main storyline, but given with such a choice, it naturally has aroused quite a bit of my (and yours too, hopefully) personal curiosity.

So really, it is up to YOU to decide. An elaborate interlude will unravel and perhaps explain either of the Assassin's characters and ideals.

Here's me in speaking out my thought processes, and maybe it'll help you to help me decide who the most favored Assassin to take part in the next mission…

The prodigious Valaruz 17th, thus far, has displayed conflicting mannerism and character of compassion and arrogance. Portrayed as rather reckless, but at the same time, a highly resourceful persona underpinned by an unrefined style that is both unorthodoxed and edgy. What are the ideals arms him every time he pulls the trigger? What are the hundreds of thoughts that go through his head when his eyes are off the crosshairs? The interlude will unfold Valaruz 17th's personal ideals, and maybe dissect his thoughts and stance.

Of course, needless to say….his approach to his assignments usually ends with a pretty loud twist and bang.

Valaruz 18th…well, speculations are venting from beneath the beds…Who on Terra is Valaruz 18th? The mysterious, shadowy character makes occasional appearance, revealing minimal persona in the midst of exacting the God-Emperor's wrath. Valaruz 18th has displayed a high degree of pragmatism; and arguably, a darker, more ruthless counterpart to Valaruz 17th. Unlike Valaruz 17th, 18th's silence strikes a deeper terror as uncertainty is a breeding ground for fear. The interlude, perhaps, will reveal more of 18th's mannerism, provide additional descriptions of the elusive assassin with traits and demeanors that will give more clues in figuring out 18th's true identity.

Getting excited? I know I am…I await your votes.

Enjoy the chapter.

* * *

XXI – Change

The black weight of the temple's obsidian exterior anchored deeply into the plateau, its spiking buttresses reached out above like skeletal fingers wanting to sink into the bluish sky. Through his spymask, Valaruz 17th's eyes measured and trailed the height of the tallest tower rising out from the centre of the temple. From the base to the pinnacle were inscriptions and humanoid statues set into the smooth, black walls; he could recall every word, sentence, where they were inscribed and their approximate lengths; he had memorized the features, back stories and history of every statue.

Time felt still and static, slipping as he stood there staring wisps of clouds sailed through the landscape. Dark blotches of shadows faded from stretches of the forest's canopies.

The large expanse of the Temple side-court had now been deserted. Father Ozmattix was long Kisex had recovered from the induced neural disruption. No verbal assaults were traded as the hulking Eversor experiment limped back into the temple, slouching…hung with shame and humiliation. He did not care, and continued staring at the tower instead, reconstructing the path to the pinnacle of the tower in memory, recalling every moment when he would reach the end of the spiraling stairwell.

The day had turned slightly grey; he could nearly taste the wind.

His vision started to blur, his limbs weakened. He could feel Exitus' casing swelling in weight, his suit tightened to crumple his skin, biting into his wounds. The cuts and concussions marked all over him started to sting…. the Adem drug's analgesic effect had begun to wear off. Its hallucinating side-effects that begun to react, throbbing throughout his body.

He looked down at over 700 feet above the side-court, realizing that he was now on the very bare edge of the tower. There were no railings, no walls, just a wide platform where he stood.

The wind boomed stronger, casting his eyes over the horizon while the sky murk swiftly where the clouds hanged low. The large expanse of the little planet was quickly drowned in the shadow of the growing girth of the clouds. They swelled in size, grew blacker like marbles. From afar, the dim marbles cracked with a deafening sound. A single talon pierced through the hardened walls and the black orbs began to crumble bit by bit, revealing grotesque Daemons as they crawled out. They cast their gaze towards Valaruz 17th, jeering and laughed manically in unison.

They screamed, screamed so loudly as they spread their black wings, flapping towards his direction, flying towards a destination.

He looked to his back…a sinisterly sharp spike jutted out from the pinnacle of the tower. And it stood alone morbidly, sadly as the Daemons arrived. Their debased, unholy union bled evil into the already darkened skies, dancing while they licked the tip of the sharp spike with their forked tongues. Saliva and drool leaked.

They wailed once, twice….they screamed in agony.

The spike had struck into the bellies of the Daemons, sending the first droplet of blood to the assassin's visor. Soon, the massive reservoir of urine and guts poured down like mud, damping everything, the weight of the intestines and filth choked him, reducing the visibility to just a chalky blur.

Valaruz 17th tried standing still...listening the cries of the wailing Daemons. Feeling the pain of his wounds.

His mind stretched a thousand mile away.

Hundreds of thoughts ran through his head.

_Which fork do we take?_

The whistling sound of Basilisk round seared the sky.

The stones on the ground began to shake violently.

He felt himself falling.

***

"Kira?" Vissa tapped lightly on Kira's shoulder, rousing her from a stream of deep thought as they paced along the temple with the rest of the candidates. They walked in a straight path through the quiet, corridors brightened to an amber by braziers and torches.

Vissa had been muttering about Valaruz 17th for the past two minutes, but none of which Kira paid attention to. And thus a curt glance was all Kira could manage, coupled with a shudder that would hopefully sufficient to reflect acknowledgment. She looked ahead again as nothing interesting caught her ear yet, at least none that could take her mind of the Assassin.

Vindicare Assassins.

His visage never left, how he struck out of thin air with his arms cradling the Holy Executioner. She felt her hair raise again, remembering the countless stories told since she was a toddler. She would lie in her cot as her father whispered tales of these urban legends. These fabled mystical beings; unsung Angels that had been silently and vigilantly protecting humanity from the scourge of corruption and chaos.

She knew the Assassin was the miracle the God-Emperor had bestowed to humanity. They were Faith…Faith that had been keeping humanity from destruction and extinction. And Valaruz 17th was a corporeal manifestation of Faith that few will ever live to see.

It was surreal, it was unexplained…that the miracle had materialized before her. She wanted to be in his presence, hear his judgment, his voice and wisdom. She wanted to experience the almost inhuman strength and will that had sculpted the perfection of the prodigious assassin.

She wanted to weep.

She wanted death.

And just by being in His presence was deserving of such a beautiful, glorious death.

Vissa's voice suddenly rang hard in her head, "…and all knowledge given about the test had been selective. It always had been from the beginning." Vissa said suddenly.

_It always had been from the beginning, _Kira caught the sentence, and found herself looking straight into Vissa's eyes. There was something insinuating in Vissa's voice and body language.

"They pulled us from our regiments, took our belongings, electrocuted and infected us before sending us into a chamber full of Daemons. We were left to thread on dangerous waters…every step calculated, and one single error, we would get the bullet," Vissa began to tremble slightly.

"Everything is eluded from us. And the more I think of it, the more I believe it was happenstance and luck that brought us to where we are today."

_Luck, _Kira scoffed.

"But you don't believe that, do you?" Vissa looked into Kira's eyes, "From the very first day, you and that Jopalli seemed to have figured there was something amiss in the barracks…"

Kira suddenly stopped in the middle of the corridor. Every of Vissa's words bled with accusation, she stared straight into Vissa's eyes, "I'd suggest you get to the point if you have one."

Vissa met her gaze for a moment and sighed, "Every decision we make is weighted in life and death…everything we do or not do, every meal we eat, every breath we take." She paused, watching as the remaining candidates walked pass, all giving them curious glances… "There are eight of us here, and they have to choose one in the end. We do not know what test will be up next, or when they will ask us to take each other's life.

So I suggest we form an alliance…the three of us."

Kira kept quiet, while Juydith searched through Kira's expression.

"It has already been made clear that there'll only be one victor, and that, Valaruz 17th is a prodigy. With an alliance, the success rate of us three getting to the end will be higher. We'll share chores and knowledge. We coach each other on skills. We delve deeper into the Temple's secrets. Cooperation is the best strategy to stay alive in this game." Vissa finally paused, stopping to gauge both of their reactions.

"An alliance," Kira reflected, maintaining her gaze, "…an alliance would only be beneficial if each of us has complementary skills to contribute…and as far as I've observed… none of you have anything I need."

Vissa narrowed her eyes.

Kira resumed, "This is a zero sum…. GAME," she emphasized, "…your loss is my gain. You know that, and being in an alliance will only increase the chances of betrayal, and I'd be singing folly if one or both of you decide to stab me in the back when I'm not looking."

"Then your cynicism and arrogance will get you killed," Vissa spat.

"So be it. It is better to die trying. Lest my honor be shattered by the taint of politics."

"I agree," she stood closer to Kira.

"Then you're naïve, a liar and a hypocrite," Vissa's voice trembled, "You were gone for a time with Koch that very first night. The two of you colluded, didn't you? How else did the two of you escape the infection?"

"Kira was punished by the Commissar," Juydith interjected, "She wouldn't have gotten the punishment if she was in league with…"

"That's fine Juydith," Kira gestured the Vostroyan to stop, "I don't owe explanations to anyone."

"So she screwed up …but damn I'll be an idiot if I were to believe that her getting away from the infection was a coincidence. The Tallarnese was right…"

"The Tallarnese is an idiot," Juydith interrupted again.

"…you're probably in league with Koch, even as we speak. That's why you're rejecting the alliance. The two of you are conspiring to eliminate us from this game. You probably know what the Temple has planned."

"Vissa, CALM DOWN," Juydith looked left and right nervously, "…you're not making sense."

"I might not be," Vissa snapped back, "…but if Kira is innocent, she'd say something."

Juydith was about to say something when she suddenly stopped, darting her eyes between towards Kira and Vissa.

"Very fascinating Vissa, are you done?" Kira waited for a reply that never came. "Nothing? Well, let me enlightened you with some sense.

This GAME, program, tests…whatever you call it," she snarled, "…they are all designed to identify and isolate a candidate with skills worthy of an Assassin. if you haven't realized. The Commissar, our instructors, Father Ozmattix, are all now gauging your ability to operate as an individual; a lone hunter; an operative able to survive on his own. I've listened enough your rambles and doubts, and I've tolerated you long enough.

You have no dignity. You are weak. You are a disgrace to Imperium. You have insulted me, the Imperium and God-Emperor for disrespecting the Assassinorum's holy tests and regard it as a GAME. You questioned their methods, methods that had been preserving the existence of humanity.

There is a purpose for the incredible strain they place on the tests, because being an Assassin is much harder that you can possibly comprehend. If you can't get through the Test, what makes you think that you have the will to last on the field?

If you think you're not capable of making through the test on your own strength, then you've already lost. The third tenet of Death before Dishonor decree states… 'Thy loss of will is an absence of faith, and the absence faith is tantamount to heresy'.

If you think its too much, take your own life , it'll do us all a favor by saving us from your weakness and misery." Kira snickered, turned and walked away.

Juydith gave a Vissa a sad glance before joining up with Kira.

Vissa bit her bottom misshapen lip.

***

It has started.

Koch observed the gesture of everyone's limbs, the gaze of their eyes, the pursing of their lips. Vissa, now split from the Kira and Juydith, had fallen victim to the Temple's latest psychological trial. The fear that Valaruz 17th struck Koch the first time had alleviated, solidifying his assumptions that the second stage of the trial was to eliminate candidates by ways other than the curriculum.

_Nothing has changed_, Koch decided, he shall remain on the course that he had first set out for. But this time, time is critical. If what Seac'kre said about Valaruz 17th and Doctor Damien was true, he needs to ascertain and validate the fact to advance his plans further.

And the time is now.

He immediately turned to Assir, who did not seem too bothered with the Assassin's appearance. He seemed almost as ignorant and caught him staring at his lunch instead, two sandwiches. Characters such as Assir took pride in their physique and natural abilities, causing them to portray intolerable and irritable personalities. They also aggravate easily, and their arrogance would result in short-sightedness….and he would use that to his advantage.

Assir was chewing on his tube, occasionally glancing to Koch. This time Koch's eyes met his, and Koch pushed the plate slightly forward as an inviting gesture.

Assir took a moment before he frowned, his jaws tightened. He looked away, and spied on Koch again. Noticing Koch's invitation was still somewhat open. He began to breathe harder, twitching in his seat uncomfortably before he turned red and furious. He locked his eyes to Koch before he stood up, thrashing chairs to the side and paced quickly towards Koch.

He slammed his fist into the Koch's table, leaning forward, "You're going to fucking jerk me around like that? Listen here you freak, I don't fucking need your charity."

Koch did not flinch, but Assir definitely got the attention of everyone in the room.

"And I'm not giving any…" Koch started, "…this is not charity. Because everything you take from me, I'd expect something in return."

Assir's was instantly dumbfounded.

"Yesterday's dinner has acquired me your attention, so I would consider the meal to have been paid in full."

"The fuck…?"

"Now, since you're here, I will keep this crude. And you will listen because I'm offering you a deal. Are you interested?"

Assir lifted his hands off the table and looked at Koch with disbelief.

"Silence indicates uncertainty, fair enough; you can make your decision after you've heard my logic:

The arrival of Valaruz 17th has changed everyone's disposition about the selection regime, as well as raising suspicion about their cliques." Koch continued looking into Assir's eyes, which made Assir turned his head a little to look at the whole dining area, ascertaining whether his observations were true. "They will begin to question each other's loyalty, and what trust that had been building up within the last week had been shaken.

The women have experienced they first defeat," Koch shifted his gaze to Vissa, sitting by herself, deeply frustrated, "…and their group has been shattered by a cause presumably correlated to the appearance of Valaruz 17th. I can predict the same would happen with the other group of men. To add, their confidence have been dwindled by the Commissar's speech. They have been exposed by an expectation they find difficult to achieve.

So during the course of the next few days, uncertainty would force a shift in power balance and group dynamics. Existing groups will be split unless conflicts are resolved internally. The splintered will discover new partnerships or they would choose to proceed individually.

Either way, naturally, people would seek emotional, human and physical support in such situation. Or else, isolation and minimal human contact would tear ones state of mind…and lead to an eventual disadvantage…"

"Tsk…wait a minute….you're asking for an alliance?" Assir shook his head curiously, before a slight smile appeared on his lips, "And last night's leftovers were used to buy my attention…? That's very sweet, but I'm not sure how much you know me, I don't get in bed with corpses."

"Alliance? No…alliances are fickle and undependable, there is little or no trust at all between us. What I'm proposing a trade of favors."

"I don't think you understand me," Assir smiled cockily, "I'm not interested."

"Indeed," Koch nodded, "But perhaps you would change your mind in a few hours time?"

"Tsk, I wouldn't count on it," the Tallarnese scoffed, turning away with a triumphant flair.

"Hmm… 'perhaps' might be a wrong choice of word,"

The Tallarnese shook his head and walked away.

"You WILL change your mind in the next two hours or so. Here." Koch waved the sandwich before Assir, and hurled it.

Assir caught it, sniffing it, "Tsk, this time, you won't be getting any kind of favors in return…" He shook his head again and took a bite into the sandwich, taking pleasure in watching Koch beg,… "…now that I know exactly how miserable you are."

Koch watched him eat for awhile, "Are you familiar with Vengeal Digitalis?"

Assir smiled at Koch cockily, biting into the bread.

"Seemingly that you originate from a desert planet barren of vegetation I'll assume that you don't. Not to mention that Tallarnese are rarely exposed to Class E toxins, I can also safely assume that your body isn't protected by the Writher's Vaccination Program?"

Assir snickered, taking another bite.

"Well, it's a shame that you have no idea, I wouldn't blame you for your ignorance. Medicine in Tallarn, after all, only rates at a miserable 39…"

Assir narrowed his eyes.

"…education…48 to 50? Explains your lack of interpretive skills and curiosity."

"And since you are almost dense to rhetoric and linguistic appeal, I'll tell you without needing you to spend years to interpret what I actually mean. That the meal you have consumed last night was prepared with herbs from a species of van herbaceous perennials, a mutated genus from what culinary chefs know more affectionately as the Angel Foxglove Dew…. or in a more scientific term - Vengeal Digitalis, used more widely by researchers, coroners and assassins."

Assir stopped chewing.

"In developed worlds such as Cadia, Vostroya, Jopall and Terra… aristocrats have developed more a exotic, if not dangerous, tastes for culinary delights. And not surprisingly, this creates a wealth of commercial opportunities for geneticist. The primarch of the Angel Foxglove Dew – Foxglove Dew has certain 'attractive' properties that had caught the attention of food nutritionist and enthusiasts. Being tasteless and odorless and extremely poisonous, just about a decade ago, they had decided to cross Digitalis with several spices variaties as well and other plants to create a less potent and delicious species - Vengeal Digitalis. The breeding and cultivation of the Angel Foxglove plant was an instant commercial success. When cooked, it releases a natural, striking aroma, elevating the heart rate while giving its consumers hallucinating effects. The Vengeal Digitalis became an instant experience amongst those who can afford it."

"But of course, if you haven't yet caught my meaning, the Vengeal Digitalis isn't exactly for the faint of heart. The original Foxglove Dew, or Digitalis, was widely used for medicinal purpose to treat epilepsy and other seizure disorder as it alters heart rates. Also extremely potent if consumed more than a lick, making it a favored choice for Assassins all the way back from the 17th century.

Assir took a step back, "Poison…?"

"The Vengeal Digitalis still contains suppressed toxins that can induce 80% of symptoms recorded by the original Digitalis, like nausea, vomiting, anorexia and diarrhea, abdominal pain, wild hallucinations, delirium and severe headache. Vengeal Digitalis proceeds much slower, where its purpurea extract would additionally shed the cells of an unvaccinated liver, causing slow deterioration and making it much more prone to the attack of other toxins…"

The Tallarn clutched his abdomen, somehow believing it to be true.

"Observations from the morning's training session indicate that you're more fatigued than usual. And in say," Koch looked to his watch, "15 minutes, you will start to have chills. In 30 minutes, you will be rushing to the washroom because of diarrhea. You will find yourself inflicted with Jaundice, your urine will turn dark. But its pointless for me to point out more, because you'll get the idea, really…that your liver is failing."

Assir suddenly turned pale, before his temples' veins popped out, "I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU," he hurled the nearest chair aside to get to Koch, lifting him up from his seat and smashed him into the wall.

Koch coughed slightly on impact, but quickly regained his composure…"Not a good idea," Koch never smiled, keeping a straight, matter-of-factly expression, "You kill me, the temple will kill you in return of violating the rules."

"Here's a more viable option," Koch said steadily, "You can exact revenge and get a cure if you accuse me of an attempt on your life. You'll get treatment and I'll be dead by the Temple's orders."

"Why the fuck are you telling me this?" Assir shook his head in bewilderment.

"Because that is not how it's going to play out for me," Koch said stoically, "If you so much have more than one brain cells, rub them together and you'll remember that I've consumed the Vengeal Digitalis as well. It's hardly poison to those that has been vaccinated by Writher's, it'll merely be herbs you'll find in the kitchen cabinet.

Moreover, the temple will discover that the Vengeal Digitalis wasn't forced into your system. Therefore, compounding proof on your level of idiocy and ignorance…not exactly the type of qualities the Temple would find appealing."

"You're jerking me around!" Assir finally lost it and threw a punch at Koch's face, the fist connected to the nose, smashing it with a sickening crush. Assir held Koch by the collar as the Jopalli started to bleed, "Not so tough when you stop talking, eh?!"

"Hahaha," Koch chuckled, rousing slowly "Humans with sub-par intelligence are indeed amusing. They get manipulated too easily."

Assir wanted to hit Koch again when his fist stopped midair, groaning. The Tallarnese looked down and saw a large syringe punctured through the skin of his upper abdomen. Pain struck his liver and followed through to the entire chest.

Koch wriggled the large needle around to inflict more pain, before he pushed a node that released air pressure, delivering liquids into Assir.

"That was the antidote," Koch whispered as Assir loosened his grip, his knees weakened. Koch pulled out the syringe and watched him slowly slipped to the ground, _…and you've just got me into the apothecary_. He stepped over the Tallarn and walked out of the dining halls.

* * *

_A/N: Referring to the Author's Preamble, don't forget to include your preference if you want to Review. Cheers._


	25. Chapter 22: Points

Author's Preamble: I was doing some research on my coming interlude where I stumbled upon a fanfiction, namely Love can Bloom (you can try googling it). If you haven't read it, it's a tale set in the Kronus campaign from the Dark Crusade, DOW. A Vindicare Assassin, on a mission to assassinate a certain Eldar Farseer Taldeer, took a turn and ended up falling in love with her instead. And thus began their adventure of love against the odds of the entire planet.

You can probably guess I'd start flaming it or something. I won't, because such premise even crossed my idea when I was conceptualizing The Assassin. Alas, I abandoned it because I don't really do romance.

But of course, I digress. Rather than the whole storyline, I was more fascinated by how the writer detailed and shaped his/her version of the Assassin. Instead of picking young adults, the author shot for the path of training children. It was believed that children at a younger age are easier to condition and be molded to become efficient, undistracted killing machines.

Suffice to say, I ended up arguing with myself, trying to convince myself, both ways, which is the more plausible/realistic versions of Vindicare Assassins. Which training regime would reap the results the Assassinorum wanted?

Food for thought. [/thought process]

As per usual, Read, Review & Enjoy.

* * *

XXII – Points

Her eyes bore into the depth of the ceramic potty, seeing swirls of green, undigested meat, and saliva grueling en masse with days-old urine and feces. The taste of vomit was fresh in her mouth, her nostrils catching a fresh scent of rotting fecal matter that stimulated her bowels to make her blanch again. The remnants of the morning's breakfast stained the side of the toilet.

She always made it a point to steer clear of the any other lavatory but her own, but it was in this instance, that choice was a luxury. The lavatory was the closest to Calsus' chamber, far from her own down in the apothecary.

She felt thoroughly disgusted.

She clutched her head dizzyingly as she tried to get up, her coordination wobbly as she made it to the stained water basin. She was at least thinking straight enough to not put the pipe water into her mouth, not even for a gargle. For now, she had to live with the stench of her own puke… and her haggard outset. She stared herself in the mirror, her eyes swollen from too much crying, sagged from sleepless nights, lips cracking from dehydration, disarrayed, oil-coated hair from skipped showers and the fucking humidity…at the very least, the humidity still preserved the condition her skin.

Her ritualized grooming was forsaken, as she had just realized. Being presentable was a boon and favor to honor the God-Emperor.

_What a load, _she chuckled to herself, looking around the toilet.

Her eyes were bleary, wizened pupils dilated as her mind wandered off.

_What in the Emperor's name is the Temple doing? _

The apothecary was operating only at 50%, at best. As she had just realized, the late Doctor Mohmar has taken everything he knew about running the Apothecary to the grave. Nothing that she had done before could have prepared her for this. Now she is struggling to remember what was it Doctor Mohmar had done to keep the Apostles in line. Have them submit their reports on time, follow their timeliness schedules, respond to ad-hoc duties to the minute, have them assist in plotting Charts, assisting administrative works.

She requested Doctor Julian to petition the Temple's Administrator for more staff –capable ones, but she has yet to hear anything back. Valaruz was a stringent red-taped filled bureacracy.

Major-Commissar Jh'nerolaz.

By Commisarriat standards, she was comparably a reasonable person to deal with. But lately, she can sense the Commissar's patience waning. The doctor had been pressed continually for the candidates' Health Stats in an REV format - something that she was hardly familiar with, she needed to pull out references and find out how to generate the format.

_Calsus's battered body._

Her tear ducts flushed, she could not breathe.

_Brother Kisex's massive bolt pistol held to the Calsus static body. _

She held her hands to her mouth, feeling what remains of her belly contents surging up her tract.

_Four days remaining._

She vomited fluids into the rusted sink, her system worked to throw up whatever remains of her already empty belly.

When she was finally done, she looked up to the mirror again...

A sudden wail caught her ear, in a daze she spun and quickly exited the lavatory. Stepping into the hallway where Code 35 was distinct.

Valaruz 17th was in critical condition.

***

"He's having a seizure!" a male Apostle smashed through the gates of the Intensive Care Sanctum, Valaruz 17th was carried in a stretcher by three other members of the Securitum, "GET DOCTOR DAMIEN!"

"One, two, HEAVE," the Assassin's was lifted onto an Apotheservitor - a conscious, semi-sentient cybernetic fashioned by the Assassinorum's Scholarum. They were flesh and blood, of stocks acquired from heretics, servicemen and volunteers who sought for repentance or a pledge for eternal devotion to the God-Emperor. Their heads were separated from the torso with the brain and spine intact, surgically mended to machines outfitted with beds, intravenous equipments, vital sensors and defibrillator. They were intended as a mobile apothecary, with mechanical spider-like legs, standing almost 7 feet tall and 15 feet in length. They were precise and highly accurate, machines that responded intelligibly without the limitations of a one.

Doctor Damien arrived wheezing only to freeze on her legs, mouth gaping watching Apostles rushing to strap sensors onto Valaruz 17th's body.

"Doctor Damien!" the male Apostle yelled.

She was never Valaruz 17th's attendee.

"Doctor Damien!!" the male Apostle yelled again.

She snapped out of her dazed state, "Administer 100ml Lorazepam, stat!" she barked as she pushed through to the Assassin's left side. She held down his arms, looking at his torn suit, wounds barely holding by Adem clots.

"Run the diagnotus," her temple ebbed with sweat as she looked up to the Apotheservitor.

"Running Diagotus," the lip-sewn, female Apotheservitor responded flatly through the voice box.

The Diagnotus was a string of peripheral protocols coded into the Apothecary secondary circuitry, written to synchronize with the Camo suit's secondary Medica protocols. The Diagnotus framework was designed to acquire a myriad of medical statistics histories from the suit's Medica archive – heart rate, blood pressure, white counts and the likes. The stats would then be run over a matrix of symptoms and causes, generating a diagnosis of the patient's condition at over 93.3 percent accuracy,

Doctor Damien tilted her body a little sideway, holding the Assassin down as steady as she could when the Apostle returned with a syringe, letting him plug the needle into the arm.

"Failed response echo," the Apotheservitor turned her head slowly, announcing a failed attempt to sync the Diagnotus with the Camo suit, "…attempt second response?"

"What the hell…" Doctor Damien baffled, caught by her own panic as her hands lifted off Valaruz 17th's when the Apostle was done. "Try again!" she screamed.

She waited anxiously... "Epilepsy stabilizing. Tachycardia, persistent. " The apotheservitor multitasked.

"Second failed response echo."

"Fuck," she cursed, she can feel a terrible migraine stinging the back of her head, a painful strech in her eyes, "Is the Camo suit damaged?" She bit her bottom lips with eyes scanning the Assassin's suit inanely, "What the hell's going on?!" she turned and searched for some answers from her Apostles, but all that she received were puzzled shrugs and head-shakings.

"Search the Interneus and find something useful!" she shouted to the Doctors-in-training, one of them quickly nodded and sped off, "Get the Commissar on the hologram!" the Assassin's vital stats were crashing; his heart rate elevating, limbs stiffened. She couldn't initiate any treatments until a diagnosis in confirmed.

"Tachycardia level 2," the Apotheservitor announced.

"Doctor," one of the Apostles returned, "This was just in, a Directoris is in effect, all primary functions of the Camo suit has been suspended until…

"Fantastic…" she sighed, "I NEED THE FUCKING COMMISSAR NOW!"

"Doctor, the Commissar is up," another Apostle brought up a hologram from the middle of the chamber.

"Commissar? You better damn well have an explanation ready if Valaruz 17th dies because of a FUCKING Directoris!"

"Before we proceed any further Doctor, you will address me appropriately…"

"Did you hear me?!" she screamed, "I SAID, Valaruz 17th is going to die!"

"Respect for discipline and hierarchy still exist regardless of deaths, notwithstanding to those you care about…DOCTOR, just so you know. But I will let it slide this time, so consider yourself warned."

"Commissar," The Doctor slowed down, scowling, "All functions of Valaruz 17th's have been suspended, if I can't get the Diagnotus to work, he'll be dead."

The Commissar raised an eyebrow through the hologram, "In case you haven't heard, Valaruz 17th had himself involved with the Inquisition. The Directoris was declared on the Hereticus' Command Level, I don't have the authority to circumvent, recede or even make an exception to the edict."

Doctor Damien brushed her hair back impatiently.

"…You'd have to find a different way to diagnose his condition."

"What?!" Doctor Damien was stumped, "That's it?"

"It's that simple. You're the doctor. Get to it." The Commissar vanished from the hologram.

"FUCK!" She smashed her datapad on the floor, shattering the device into pieces.

"Doctor," a sympathizing Apostle said, "We should be starting him on Nitroglycerine."

"Y…yes…10 ml…" she was trying hard to catch her breath, shutting her eyes to try to calm down while the Apostle went to administer a dose.

"Nitroglycerine's effect is only temporary in bringing down his heart rate. We need a diagnosis." Another Apostle said.

"The Commissar made it pretty damn clear, didn't she?" she snapped with bitter sarcasm, her fingers visibly trembling, "N…nit…nitroglycerine will sustain his heart rate for 3 hours" she began looked towards Valaruz 17th, "I will submit a petition the Father Ozmattix to lift the Directoris."

"The commissar said…"

"The Commissar didn't anything about the High Priest, did she? Father Ozmattix's rank is equivalent to an Inquisitor…he'll be able to do something…"

"What about a differential…?"

"…HE…would make an emergency relay to the Inquisition with a request for an overturn." Doctor Damien asserted, "It's the best…safest…way to get an accurate diagnosis."

Everyone in the room fell silent; the Apostles wore skepticism on their expression, "I think its best if we run a differential…"

"You know what?" the doctor raised her voice, "I don't see any of you so keen when it comes to comes to submitting your reports. Now you're questioning my judgments? Look around, the apothecary is in a fucking mess right now because all of you skipping on your duties and tasks.

Seriously, do any of you aspiring doctors even think you're qualified enough to give me an accurate diagnosis? Hmm?" She said with her jaws tightened.

She jabbed her hands to her hips, waiting for a reply from now, a rather discontented group.

"Doctor Damien," another female Apostle who just came through the door interrupted her.

"What!?" she barked as she turned to meet the startled Apostle.

"Uh…uh…I know this is a bad time…there's a candidate, Koch Dessler I believe, who wants to see you."

"You're right," she said, "It IS a bad time…you fucking know that," she took a deep breath, "What does he want?"

"He has a broken nose," the female Apostle stammered slightly.

"Then fix it for him!" the doctor's arm flung annoyingly to get rid of the Apostle.

"He insisted in seeing only you, he's waiting right outside the corridor…"

"Is it that hard to tell him that I'M BUSY?!"

"Uh, uh…"

"Ughhhhhhh…." She groaned in deep frustration, shoving her subordinate aside to make way towards the exit, "You're all fucking useless," she muttered under her shaky breath.

She slammed through the gates of the Intensive Sanctum to step out from the corridor, before she stopped. Tears were drenching her face with little to her knowing. She sobbed painfully. Heaviness weighed down her heart.

She was losing it. She knew. And now the painful cycle of self-doubt dawned upon her again. She begins to tremble at the thought of losing Valaruz 17th, under her watch, with her own hands.

She was incapable.

She felt like throwing up again.

***

Koch held his head up as steadily as possible, a single hand holding a piece of towel up to absorb the bleed.

_A little wasteful, _he recalculated the consequences of his actions with Assir and his future plans. He should have been a little more diplomatic with the Tallarnese, not resorting to such manipulative, destructive extent. But it was necessary. He had to ascertain Doctor Damien's relationship with Valaruz 17th. And the Assassin's arrival would make the doctor's emotions and body language expose certain truths.

_It was necessary_, he convinced himself. There was little time left.

"I'm sorry Koch," Doctor Damien approached from behind, "…this is a really bad time," she held her head down, hiding her puffy eyes.

"So I've heard," his voice a little muffled by the large towel, his words came out a little forced.

He studied the doctor. _Stress, _he assumed. He head held up to conceal all interrogative traces that might offset her emotional state further, his eyes darted down to study her reactions further…"Valaruz 17th I presume?" he took a gamble.

Her right arm hugged over her belly, with the other arm clutching to her cheeks, sobbing slightly, "Yes…emergency…look, I'll get an Apostle to fix you up and provide you with a Writ of Pardon for the Commissar, I need to go…" she wrapped everything up and turned away.

His next words were spoken nonchalantly, "Is he okay?".

Her head still hanged low, eyes glanced up to Koch briefly, her mind processing her thoughts, "Yes…yes"

_A lie. _

Koch waited.

"Sorry," she softened, continuing, "No….in fact, he's not. Koch, I'm needed…"

"What's the diagnosis?"

"D…dia…" she scratched her head, stammering, "He…he's under a Directoris, and all primary functions of the Camo suit have been suspended," her expression was hinted with shame, "I can't get a diagnosis yet."

"What are the symptoms?"

Doctor Damien paused for a moment, her eyes looking fully at Koch.

"Uh…uh…he had an epileptic seizure, administered 100ml of Lorazepam; Nitroglycerine to manage his Tachycardia…"

"Does he have any history of epilepsy?

"No…not to his records," she said curtly, "Look…I can handle…"

"What about the injuries?" Koch cut her off.

She took a moment, with her mouth slightly agape, "Ummm…multiple laceration, cuts, bruises, concussions."

"What's his mission profile?"

She scratched her temples anxiously, "Uh…mmm…a death world, Xesxes, he was operating in a climate of -13 Celsius, the targets was a concentration of Tyranid lictors."

Koch paused for a moment to gather his thoughts, "Check his head for any injuries, chances of his seizure and tachycardia might be caused by brain trauma, drug overdose, poison or a combination of all. Run a tox-screen and an inventory check, determine what drugs he's used," The doctor's was absolutely stunned. Her arms crossed over her chest. She was at a loss for words, and could not begin to comprehend what was going on.

"You would have to run a PET scan and MRI as well. My prognosis is that he has been poisoned by a variant of Tyranid neurotoxin, possibly reacting with any kind of drugs that he might be using."

She did not have to digest what he said, "Right," was all she could say, clenching her fist tightly. She knew that was the best course of a procedure. Koch was right. She was so reliant on the Diagnotus, she failed to remember basic procedures.

Her heart burned, biting her bottom lip, turned and walked away with a little sprint.

"Doctor Damien?" Koch called out.

"What!?" her voice risen to a near shout, every decibel ebbed with annoyance.

In that moment, Koch processed the implications of her emotions, for all the advice that he had given, it was probable that he had stepped on her pride and enabled her inferiority, along with all the frustrations that tailgated. She was not in an adjusted frame of mind, and her reactions from hereon would be unpredictable and highly erratic.

But he had to try.

"Do…" Koch started, "Do you have…"

Doctor Damien scowled impatiently.

Koch's head swam with doubt, but he had to ask, "Do you have an emotional attachment to Valaruz 17th?"

Her eyes fluttered, her mouth opened, and body shifted, "Ex…excuse me?"

She was completely taken by surprise.

"Valaruz 17th? Is he someone…important… to you?"

Doctor Ally shifted around some more; the scowl of annoyance has been reduced to bafflement, "Ko…Koch… I don't understand… "She shook her head incomprehensibly, "…what is this about?" her eyes searched for hints within Koch's stoic features.

"Emotions," Koch picked his words carefully, he would deliver it monotonously and matter-of-factly manner to set the tone, and shift her away from her emotional state. He desired nothing less than an objective answer, "Emotions can cloud one's judgments under high-stress situations. Decisions-making abilities can be affected to yield less-than-optimum results…"

The doctor's emotions transformed again, this time, it turned to anger. Koch immediately sensed that this would not go well.

But he pressed on, situations can be controlled, "…and judging from our previous conversation, I hypothesize that you have an emotional attachment to…"

"Huh," her hands jabbed to her sides and ignored Koch's further explanations, a flair of disbelief flushed through the Doctor, "I don't believe this, is this what this is about?"

Koch silenced.

She began nodding her head cynically and scornfully, as if she understood completely, "Yes," she said sarcastically, "Yes, you've managed to recite the basic procedures of a manual diagnostic, bravo…and that you're not even a doctor.

What…? I'm too emotional? I've allowed it too much to affect my work?" Her voice risen, "...that I'm just a mediocre doctor that can't get anything right?

Fair enough….THIS SHITHOLE, is fucking falling apart. You think I'm blind?! Deadlines are due, work is stacking up… my Apostles are slacking off and my patients are dying. Of course, blame me!" She threw her limbs around, "I'm stupid! And all this started right after I took charge after Doctor Mohmar's death. He's brilliant, impartial, cold and heartless…he gets the job done.

But fuck, you listen to me, and the God-Emperor help me…that I will not take shit from anyone just because I give a damn about people. You hear?"

She stared into Koch's eyes for a brief moment, before she turned away and entered the Intensive Care Sanctum wordlessly.

***

The jumpsuit was zipped only halfway through to reveal her deep cleavage. Her golden skinned, petite and voluptuous bodyleaned against the wall next to the register, nonchalantly whistling an unfamiliar tune. Behind her stood an aroused Guard-Administrator constantly stealing nervous glances at the smoldering vixen, his attention completely crushed, devoted in fueling his fantasies by eyeing her bountiful, full globes. His nose flared, trying to whiff all traces of her feminine sexual scent. Her perky nipples hardened, poking out visibly through the fabric that made him imagine a thousand ways what he wanted to do to her.

"Tis' before you… is the entrance to the Temple's Munitorum," the nubile seductress gave a relaxed, sultry smile, arms crossing over her chest while announcing to the candidates that stood before her, "…and I am your weapons and munitions instructor – 2nd-Class Lieutenant Lynn Lurista, Arms Master of Vostroya.

Unlike the uptight Commissar, you can dispense with all the tedious salutation bullshit and just call me Lynn. I don't fancy punishments…no hard prodding, or get-down-and-give-me-twenties. I don't get to decide which one of you gets to pass the test. I don't give a shit. You already have your lovely Commissar to do that and I'd like to keep all of you under affectionate terms. But until further developments, your affairs with me are strictly oral." She laughed boisterously, amused by the level of curiosity and surprise she struck with the candidates.

"Don't get too attached and comfortable yet of course," her laughter quieted down, "Especially the men…your blood only flows in one of two directions, and I'm quite familiar with the effects of my sexuality. So here's a free tip… since we are going to deal with a lot of lectures and classes, and you have SO little time in a day…I'd tell you now that if you so much spend most of the time fantasizing about fucking me than paying attention to the curriculum, you're just as good as the thousand other corpses that is now nothing but ashes," she gave a huge grin.

"So we've gotten acquainted? Fantastic, let us then begin this pointless endeavor of EDUCATION."

She turned around, her cheeky, laid-back demeanor changed immediately, her smile vanished, her eyes turned cold and stern. She motioned the Guard-Administrator to open the gates, leading the candidates into the Munitorum.

"You're now in the Temple's Munitorum. We have here enough munitions and weapons to outfit a twenty-platoon strong army. You'll see Bolters, Auto-Cannons, Missile Launchers, munitions, Xeno weaponry, blades, power-fists…a collection of over three thousand weapons of different models and make dating back three millenniums back. You'll find fully functional weaponry and live ammunitions, maintained and checked by the Valaruz Securitum. Every firing pin and lock polished, every melee arms whetted and shined. The Munitorum is an Arsenal, and it will be the chamber where you'll spend most of your time in.

But there are two Holy Weapons that you will never set your eyes on here in the munitorum…the Exitus, and the Exeter. None of you are worthy enough.

The Assassinorum's Codex canonical scripture reads 'Thy Vindicare Assassin carryth with the God-Emperor's wrath upon the heretic, and may the Holy Exitus grant His glory, takenth sins and taint. Be Glorious, Child, bring Glory to his Name.

The Exitus epitomizes the Assassin's Holy Duty, an embellished, subtle symbol that serves as a reminder to the trillions of Men, that corruption is sinful, anemic and contagious. The Exitus was fashioned and designed by the most skillful Magos of the Cult Mechanicus, every bolt measured to the millimeter, every part hand assembled. The Exitus is ritualized, every inscription bestowed by blessing of the Ecclesiarchy and Rune-Priests to honor the tenets and philosophy of the Vindicare. It has a maximum effective range of 12.50 kilometers, weighing 20.3 kilos at a length of 1690mm, equipped with Auto-assist, threat recognition and a dozen of other peripheral tools. It packs enough recoil to dislocate an untrained shoulder, its caliber classified the heaviest in the Imperial Munitorum…carrying rounds that could penetrate Terminator hulls and even the thickest and foulest of Daemon hides.

The Exeter, the side-arm of the Vindicare Assassin employed in close-quarter combat. Its strength and power categorizes in equivalence to Class-I bolt pistols. Its power - devastating, a compact technological marvel weighing at 60.3 ounces with the capacity to arm twenty six different ammunitions to counter a variety of situations.

The Vindicare Assassin is trained to operate with guile and stealth, moving in shadows towards the vantage point. Positioning for hours to weeks before the shot is taken.

But situations can change, the target might move - a change of location, a change in unforeseen circumstances…no…the Assassin won't be called off for a vacation, he will adapt and carry on the hunt until the target is obliterated. There will be swarms of unpredictable odds, and different weapons might be needed to accomplish the mission.

And here is where I come in, you will learn ALL of the weapons that are logged and stored in the Munitorum. You will learn to use Storm Bolters, how to perform a triangulation for Whirlwind Missile strike, or to use a mere lasrifle to maximum, devastating effect. The Assassinorum's agents, by any standards, are weaponry savants, and will be trained to kill Daemons, Hive Tyrants, and even defective Space Marine where Assassination with the Exitus is no longer feasible.

You will be given theoretical lessons; case studies and books to study to…." She paused suddenly, her eyes stretched to the back of the group. "…oh…oh…oh…look what just came through the door…"

Lynn raised her hips, "Just because I'm a woman does not mean I can be kept waiting," her outset instantaneously turned bitter, the glint she had when she was giving her lectures disappeared from her eyes, "Lieutenant Koch Dessler, I'd thought the group seemed smaller."

Koch walked forward where he could be seen more visibly, flashing a piece of letter, "I needed the apothecary's attention, and I have Doctor Damien's Writ of Apothecary Pardon."

"Oooh, Ally…" she emphasized her name, and her face soured further as if she held a personal grudge against the doctor, "Well, I'm a little jealous, I'm thinking that you'd rather see the cute doctor than to watch my performance in lecture."

Koch was hardly amused, "If you'd read the letter, it states that I required attention for a broken nose."

"And I'd trust the nose is broken for good reason," she spat, "MEN like you…" she emphasized, "...always have excuses."

"But if you were to show up here 5 minutes ago, you would know that I don't really give a shit for regulations and I'm a real sweetheart that might give you a blowjob. But no, you chose to walk in oh-so-ceremoniously instead with that smug look on your face," she moved towards Koch slowly while wearing a scowl, "…and that'll be your biggest mistake. You see, I happen to be very sensitive girl and I'm what they call, an attention whore."

Koch remained stoic and aloof as she stepped directly in front, standing about a head shorter than the Jopalli.

"'To ire a woman, burn with scorn,'" she looked at him from head to toe, "'…she'll be your worst nightmare.' For a dominant male with balls of steel, I'd expect that such proximity with a bitch queen with a pair of suckable tits would uncomfortably stiffen you with thrill and excitement. Yet, there's nothing about you that shows a libidinal rush. Tell me, are you a homosexual, or are you merely asexual?"

"Well, you must be disappointed to know that my sexual orientation is irrelevant." Koch replied, "You don't amuse me either way."

He could see the angry twitch in her face, "Being late for Trainings is a violation of the Temple's rules, I could easily have you executed for that."

"Hmm…" Koch suddenly cocked his head to side with interest, analyzing, "You deflected in form of a threat when you fail to retort my reply with a suitable rebuttal. In syntax, there is no need for threats if you had intended to punish me physically. You are merely craving for attention and you were exhausting ways to seize control of my fears."

Koch can sense that instructor was taken aback.

"I think I understand. No matter how sophistcated the human mind works, physical qualities is still very much taken into consideration when a human would display respect to another. Your small stature...is a probable cause for your lacking in ability to command respect," he scanned her body, "But your natural attractive physical traits…it compensates for your confidence to being able to act forwardly to get what you want. And of course, to get to where you are now, you probably have to mix with all sorts of characters to get through a male-dominated Militant Organization. You've learned to use words to defend yourself from being disrespected, and thus making you quite seasoned and hardened when it comes to acting, what they call, a bitch."

Koch moved closer up to her face, his confidence building up, he was revealing her weaknesses.

"So really, where you are now, aside from your accomplishments, the way you garner respect and power is through your sexuality and your headstrong persona. All that you want from me is a victory over my psychology and respect, but unfortunately, this is a victory you cannot achieve until you discover my weakness and use it against me."

Koch smiled slightly as he watched her lips trembled, "The Nerve..." she whispered lowly, before her mouth curved upwards to a weak smile, trying to mask her vulnerability.

"Hahaha," she laughed forcefully,"HAHAHAHAAH!"

She continued laughing loudly and mockingly.

She reached out her hands, gesturing for the letter.

Koch hesitated for a moment, before passing it to her.

"Hahaha," she laughed still, holding up the piece of paper before Koch, "I'd admit...well played, you nearly had me…but you're right, I'm not here without mingling with a multitude of characters - jerks, assholes, pigs and chauvanists..."

With both her hands, she tore the letter in two, before she tore it again…and again, until it became shreds of pulp, scattering it on the floor.

"And ultimately…it made me a bitch."

"You're hereby excluded from the lecture…ALL OF MY LECTURES. Like the piece of letter, I'll enjoy watching you being torn to shreds, a bit at a time."


	26. Interlude IV: Traitoris

**Author's Preamble: I would like everyone to give a warm welcome to my beta, Lord Mandalore, whose help would definitely give the polish The Assassin needs. He is a talented and accomplished writer here in Fanfiction. Do check out his work, especially Kasrkin. **

**Lord Mandalore: Much gratitude for your fast and efficient work. **

**About this chapter: An approximate total of 15,000 words have been written for this story, and I have laboriously written and re-written to get the best feel out of it, and settled for this final version. As many of you have already voted, Valaruz 18****th**** won the spot to lead the mission. Thank you for voting. **

**To my readers: Thank you for all your reviews. This Interlude is dedicated to all of you.**

**Enjoy!

* * *

**

**Interlude – Traitoris**

Time: 1132

Wide columns of Imperial Guards occupied the broad super highroads of the lower Haliapthen Hive City, with regimental trumpeters blasting Imperial anthems and drummers forming the beat and timing for the March of Salvation, snares were smashed with skill in rigid precision to tremble the very air. Upon the urban horizon was an endless view of soldiers in dark red fatigues. Above their heads fluttered the Banners of the 5th Regiment of the Haliapthen Fighters.

Discipline and training were ingrained into every thick black boot, their metal base stomping into the ground in perfect coordination, shaking the foundations of the streets in a show of the Imperium's military might. Millions of Haliapthens gathered by the sealed super highroads that morning; where awed children passed flimsy salutes to the soldiers; the faithful got down to their knees and prayed; the ignorant cried and shriveled at the false-assumption of a Martial Law.

It was an Imperial gazette, an edict passed a week ago to have all economic activities stifled for 48 hours for the auspicious day. Every man, woman and child were to cease all other activities to attend procession for the Saint Vistrelli Temple consecration. Unfinished goods were stopped on the factory belts, Imperial Marks froze in the banking pipelines, grocers halted all trades, and workers' wages were stopped from entering pockets.

The Imperial Census estimated twenty three million Haliapthens, sealing off twenty four miles of the super highroads connected through Industriums, Commerciarum, and Residentias to accommodate the entire populace. The band of twenty three thousand participants would coil through Slums, Scholas, Guilds and the Mains, forming a four mile long parade, making it the third largest March of Salvation recorded in the Haliapthen's history. It was a celebration to mark the recent completion of the lavish, golden-inlaid Temple built in that down-trodden, neglected sector. Rumors were that it was a personal gift by the visionary Lord Governor Vladimir – a native, slum dog of the lower Hive.

No royalty has ever set foot down in the lower Hive, and no Imperial guardsmen would appear in the filthy sector unless it was drafting season. Infrastructures were ancient and broken, subserviced, pockmarked roads were ridden with potholes, the people were poorly educated, society rife with corruption and crime.

But fortunes seemed to have changed as of late, their streets were now generously flooded by the grace of the Militant and Ecclesiarchy, cosseted with heavy doses of Imperial Might and Spirituality.

"Repent! Repent!" Priests and their apostles gathered from all levels of the Kriliant Spire yelled, "Repent heathens, for you forget our Father, our God-Emperor!" In thousands, the frothing fanatics fanned through the streets in fervent prayer to the Emperor. They continued reciting verses from scriptures, hollering with their staves in near-lunacy. All the while holding up torches, texts and scriptures while their voices boomed in worship and veneration of their Savior

"The Unfaithful shall Burn!"

"REPENT!"

"The Unwilling be punished!"

"REPENT!"

"The Unlearned shall REPENT!"

"REPENT!"

"REPENT!"

"REPENT!"

The Priests all danced forward through the column of guards, spitting their sermons into the faces of the civilians, paving a spiritual path for a terrible triangular structure that was to follow. A grotesquely designed structure emerged slowly from the haze and the air thickened with screams and cries. The cracking of whips and whimpers of children stung the very air; it would shed the very skin of a human, sending a terrible chill down every Haliapthen's spine. The eleven foot high structure was pushed by two rear massive wheels, resembling a cage, with its width almost taking up the entire road. It was duly named The Sentence.

Wrongdoers, beggars, absentees… of men, women and child, of civilians who caused unrest, committed petty thefts or merely broke into the marching line were rounded up and bludgeoned with Imperial Guards lasguns. Their clothes and belongings stripped; ankles and hands bound, and were given two floggings each by Penitent Masters, breaking their flesh before they were humiliatingly shoved and cramped behind the rusted metal bars of The Sentence. They covered their privates in anguish, wailing in shame as their bloodied, bare feet were forced to march along the rough, jagged tar.

Obedience and Honor. Order and Discipline. The sinners must be made example of on a Holy Day as this. The Heathens shall be reborn.

Bloody, mangled bodies littered the streets where The Sentence passed. An unclothed body of prisoner-child was torn by barbs and spikes teethed through The Sentence's bottom open one and a half foot gapped sides. Those who fell in the prison…those who were too weak to stand repentance… would be left to lie on the ground and grinded by the barbs before being spitted out to die. His wound-ridden cadaver was heavily bruised the trample of the prisoners, further stampeded by the Imperial Guards that flattened his flesh and smeared the roads with flesh and blood.

Some of the fanatical citizens cheered on the savagery, reciting along to the verses and howled cries of love for the God-Emperor. Many of the less religious beings, held their head down in shame, with guilt and shortness of faith suffocating them …all cowing from the terror of judgment.

Then, a song could be heard from a distance, it was soft, but slowly became more distinct as the voice of the mad Priests vanished. The weeping guilty, the faithful that praised, all stunned to a quieting Hymn. A tall, golden moving dais emerged, and it was on the highest perch, where the lingering chorus of _Quiritatio _was delivered in sheer eloquence and power. The sight of an adolescent girl, donning in pure white, gradually materialized before the crowd, bearing child-like features that exuded purity. Her mournful Falsetto soared through, weaving a visceral tale of the venerable God-Emperor, of his kindness, compassion and sacrifice to Humanity.

The civilians' souls were captured, and all began to break down, their hearts dropped, eyes misted while gaze affixed to the white Angel. They clutched their hands to their hearts, and began to chime and belted to her mournful succor. Their spiritual resolve heightened, elevating them into a collective, melancholic trance.

"Praise the Emperor!" a female civilian cried out, her face damp while hands reaching towards the unseen skies, "Praise the Emperor!"

***

Time: 1156

Duke Colonel Boris's ear-vox was flooded with chatter, from stat-reps, sit-reps, the March Progression to Prisoner counts; the Duke hectically corresponded with all his Lieutenants commanding the respective Battalions. He constantly flipped through his dataslate, barking orders to his assistant operating from the mobile Tactica, disregarding his own mannerism despite being in the presence of the Governor.

"…you better damn make sure 30th sweep the 8th leg before the hour is over. No. I don't care if the Lieutenant Colonel is an old windbag. I already have enough morons to deal with. I am giving you the authority to grind balls. So damn it, make them cry if you must, the Procession must reach the Temple on time. What? Fuck, you're my assistant for a reason, show some spine or I'll promise I'll rip it off you."

The Governor, tall and lean, wearing a neatly pressed outfit, emanated power and charisma from where he sat. He tore his gaze away from the crowd outside and smiled nonchalantly at the Colonel's antics.

He removed two crystal glasses and filled it with Bourbon.

"…My apologies Governor," the Duke took out his ear-vox and rested the data-slate on his lap, "…for the crudeness. Vulgarities, unfortunately, have become necessities." The Duke Colonel, in fact, did not look the slightest bit regrettable.

"Naturally," the Governor extended his hand forward, offering the graying man a drink, "Communicating with different levels of people requires varying levels of verbal finesse. Both ends of the Hive taught me just that. Manners are merely social masks to appease superficial cultures."

"Superficial cultures…" The Duke Colonel hardened outset seemed to have rattled, taking it as an insult. He, himself, came from a long line of nobles and aristocrats. More than just a military man, he was taught fine arts and the so-called 'Superficial Cultures.' "…then you seem to mean that these 'superficial cultures' hold no value."

"Quite the contrary, good Colonel, these cultures have realistic value to those who understands it, as you seemed to have grasped it quite well."

The Duke pondered upon it for awhile, but still felt unsatisfied with the arguments, "But if manners are indeed superficial, and there are both ends to value, does that mean good conducts are more superficial than the bad ones?"

"That is one way of measuring it," the Governor gave an amused chuckle.

"Hmm, then in that case, wouldn't everyone be better off if they'd behaved badly?"

"Hmm, economics…" the Governor smiled, "But you make an interesting argument. But of course, you know that it's rarely that simple, the value really depends how the other party values it," the Governor smiled, "Colonel, beyond all syntax and logic, it is called perspective. I was born into the slums, and where I came from, manners mean little when it comes to earning a pence or defending your women against rapists.

Or perhaps, in your terms - to battle against the savage, bloodthirsty Orks or to destroy the cruel, sadistic Dark Eldar?

Our universe is constantly under threat and I believe it is productivity and results that matters. To achieve a goal, everyone is required to do the right thing. Manners would do little to contribute to that. It won't get your soldiers to get up and fight against his fears. It won't restore peace and justice into a city overrun by rioting mobs.

I believe everyone is measured by their level competencies and abilities, their achievements and successes, and I'd think you'd agree that when I say when you have enough of those, you'll have respect. And respect is all that people of power need."

"Hmm," the Colonel contemplated on that for a moment, "I think I can appreciate that argument," he paused, but still felt rather adamant in trying to prove the Governor wrong, "But if you would please indulge my curiosity, does good manners really value that little to you?"

"I would not put it that way, but I suppose manners do make me feel more…how do you put it? Civilized?"

"Indeed, and would you say if one appreciates manners, it makes one superficial as well?"

"Of course, who isn't?"

The Colonel stopped entirely, and found truth in that argument.

He conceded.

He looked at the Governor, now turned away and sipped on his drink. He was indeed a powerful and formidable being, an intellectual. He believed he has found a modicum of respect for the former slum dog, a man that actually earned his current position solely through his abilities.

The Duke Colonel always had distaste for politicians; they are always represented in the image of overly-fed slugs, power-mongers and concubines keepers that prized societal status and wealth above the Imperium's glory.

But this Governor, Governor Vladimir, was different. He was verbose and articulate, sharp and intelligent, persistent and determined.

He was a visionary.

The lower Hives of the Krilliant Spire was the very slums that the Governor crawled out from. He was one of the very few that managed to break out of the cycle of poverty and climb up to the upper Hive. He scored immensely well in the local Schola and was pushed to the Ecclesiarchy for further studies. Through recommendations he found employment as an aide for one of the mid-levetos Administrators. He continued to toil, networked and ultimately nominated himself to run for Governor.

In the first year of his administration, he identified and laid off a sizeable number of corrupt bureaucrats. Seizing their fortunes and investing them in infrastructure and upgrading the quality of Scholas. Policies were revamped and amended to improve production capacities and efficiency.

By the third year, statistical charts showed that production has gone up by forty percent, decreasing unemployment by eight percent, and improved overall health conditions of the populace. Encouraged by his own success, he ambitiously pushed to have the lower Hive improved to increase production capacity and domestic product of the Krilliant Spire. To substantiate his theory and win the approval of the council, he commissioned feasibility studies to have human capital from lower Hive integrated into the Middle Hive. The studies' results returned positive. He designated the lower Hive of the Krilliant Spire to be a pilot project, a model that would be replicated across Haliapth. Tithe breaks would be requested and Imperial Coffers will be directed to rebuild infrastructures, more Scholas would be constructed to improve the literacy rate.

But of course, given the lowly state of the Lower Hive, many administrators rejected the proposal. It was deemed that the lower Hive was not yet ready, in mind and culture to merge with the Middle Hive. Every Imperial Mark spent would be just a waste of resource. The Governor, unfettered, took matters into his own hands, and rallied support from the Ecclesiarchy. He spent almost all of his fortunes to have a Temple constructed to win the Lower Haliapthens' mind and hearts, they were to be conditioned and molded in their attitude and mentality. He estimated it would take two generations before they would be truly ready in achieving his visions.

The design, planning and construction of the lavish temple took a whole three years to complete. It was capable of serving 3 million people, and many slums were forced to be flattened to make way for the enormous structure. The Barons of the lower Hive banked on the prospect of opportunity, instantly swore their allegiance and support to the Governor.

Three years, and the Governor's work was nearly done. The March of Salvation was orchestrated to enforce discipline, to demonstrate the real power they were supposed to subject to. What was left is to address the people, to let them hear his voice and feed them with his inspiring vision. To promise to lift them out for purgatory.

The Governor was indeed a powerful man.

_Perhaps too powerful, _the Duke Colonel thought again. His base and influential power seem to be expanding too rapidly. He has too many political allegiances, and experience warned the hardened man that, save the God-Emperor, no man can be too powerful without being corrupt.

The Duke General shrugged his worries away. The Governor was really too much of an influential man, if he had allowed himself, he would rather spend time picking the Governor's mind. So he merely retrieved his dataslate and replaced the ear-vox. He went back to work, listening in to the chatter and checking the progress of patrol sweep.

"Lisbon, what's the 30th status? What?! I can't hear you, speak up. Wait. Hold on," the Duke Colonel turned to the Governor, "Excuse me Governor, matters of the Militant require my full attention, I have to step out for a moment."

The Governor nodded.

"Yes," the Colonel opened the doors of the Imperial Carrier, greeted by the booming hail of the lower Haliapthens and the Imperial March Anthem, he quickly checked the immediate parameter, all secured by deadly, heavily armed Stormtroopers.

"_The 30th my Lord, I have lost contact with them,"_

"What in the fucking name….look you incompetent swine, this better not be an excuse."

"_My Lord, please, I beg your mercy, truth is all that I'm telling. I have had the 26th to confirm response, but they had no luck."_

The Duke Colonel pondered for a moment. The 26th patrol was led by Captain Yeltsin - a good, efficient man. He turned and began to pace along with the procession.

"_The rest of the Patrols have covered their respective sectors, should I divert some resource to get a visual contact on the 30th?"_

"The closest Patrol to the 30th would be 26th…" the Colonel looked through his dataslate, "Establish a direct channel to Captain Yeltsin, I don't want anyone else on it."

"_With your pardon, milord."_

The Colonel waited for a moment.

"_With the Emperor's Will, Captain Yeltsin reporting_, _sir._"

"Captain Yeltsin, Officer Lisbon has requested that you make contact with the Captain Adam."

"_I have executed the order milord, and there have not yet been any responses."_

"Pass on your squad's lead to your second-in-command; I need you to take half your men to check on the 30th. Lisbon will upload their last known position and I'm sending in two Stormtroopers as reinforcements. You will set a rendezvous point and coordinate an investigation. You will be reporting directly under me."

"_Yes milord, I obey your command."_

"Any unusual sightings or activities, I want to hear it."

"_Yes milord, I'm moving out now, Sergeant Novak? We have new orders…pardon me milord."_

Captain Yeltsin disconnected.

"Lisbon, I need you to upload the Captain Adam's last known position to Captain Yeltsin. Also, send a carbon copy to Master Sergeant Voz."

"_Yes, milord, it shall be done."_

The Duke Colonel spun around to search for a middle-aged, shaved-headed Stormtrooper. He was spotted at the rear of the Stormtrooper line. With his middle and index fingers, the Colonel gestured the Stormtrooper Sergeant to come forward, "Master Sergeant Voz!" He shouted as loud as he could in the midst the deafening background.

The Master Sergeant reacted immediately, sprinting forward albeit being heavily suited, "Duke Colonel?" he gave a quick salute.

"Sergeant," the Duke Colonel returned the salute, "We have lost contact with the 30th patrol; dispatch two of your men to assist Captain Yeltsin of 26th in their investigation! I have CC'ed a copy of the Captain Adam's last position to you! You should be able to find all that you need in that forward! "

The Master Sergeant quickly looked around and whistled fourth two Stormtrooper, both reacted quickly and made themselves present before the Duke Colonel and Voz.

"Cali, Cakeface," Voz briefed them immediately, "You are to establish contact with the Captain Yeltsin of the 26th. You will be assisting the Patrol in re-establishing contact of the 30th. Cakeface, you're in charge! Move out!"

"Yes sir!" Cali and Cakeface both saluted and quickly bolted off. The Master Sergeant returned his attention to the Colonel.

"Voz! I need you and your men to double up, something foul is at work here!" The Duke Colonel shouted, "The Governor's safety will be your top priority, you understand?"

"Yes milord, you shan't worry, my men is ready to repel any attackers!"

"Then you better hold true to your word, or it'll be your head, Sergeant!"

The Master Sergeant nodded and turned to fall back in line.

"_Duke Colonel, Captain Yeltsin reporting, I am already at the rendezvous point with 14 men. Stormtroopers will arrive in 2 minutes."_

"Good, keep me abreast of things," the Colonel said.

"_Milord, there's a burnt smell in the air, possible las discharge."_

The Colonel did not say anything for a moment, merely listening in, "Lisbon, I need you to have your best Tactica analysts working in tandem with the Captain's progress. Record everything."

"_Yes milord,"_

"_The Stormtroopers have arrived; we are ready to move in to the location. The Emperor Protects."_

The Duke Colonel took a deep breath.

"_Closing in to 5 yards…scorch marks on the wall…dear Emperor. What happened here?"_

"_Bodies sighted, all bearing Haliapthen Fighter's fatigues. They are all burnt, unrecognizable. No hostiles in sight. Securing the perimeter."_

"_There are large round-shaped wounds on their bodies. I can't distinguish the weapon type. Check them all!"_

"_We have civilians as well, they are stripped and naked, possible prisoners for The Sentence. By the Emperor, what is going on?"_

"_We have found Captain Adam! It's him, his Aquilae."_

"_Duke Colonel, our perimeter has been compromised, secure the… Arghhhhh! Arghhhhhhhhh!"_

"Captain Yeltsin! Captain Yeltsin!" Duke Colonel Boris yelled into his ear-vox, but there were no more response.

"Duke Colonel!" Voz ran up towards the Duke Colonel, "My men have made contact with an unknown assailant. We have been cut off."

"Fuck," the Duke Colonel brushed his hair back, "Lisbon, did the analyst get anything?"

"_Milord! They are determining auditory, there are flames…energy weaponry…and a visual of an Arbiter Repressor."_

"Arbiter..?" the Colonel paused, and then resumed, "Keep working on it, get back to me when you have something solid!"

"Voz, double up the perimeter, I need you and your squad to protect the Imperial Carrier AT ALL COST."

"Should we initiate exit protocols?"

"No I won't do a thing different until we know what the objective and scope of the enemy's plan."

"Yes milord," he held his ear-vox close and began barking orders.

The Duke Colonel heart rate picked up, he was sensing an ambush. With over 24 million civilians, it would be difficult executing an exit plan without knowing where the enemies are. It was a good bet that they have been planning this attack for some time. Who are they? It was disturbing mentioning the Arbiter, they are supposed to be relieved of their jurisdiction and withdraw all units and vehicles 20 miles away from the procession route.

"Duke Colonel," the familiar, calm voice of the Governor came from the Imperial Carrier, with the windows wind down, "Is everything alright?"

"Yes Governor, there is nothing to worry about," The Colonel told a white lie, "I need to head back to Tactica."

"That's fine," the Governor seemed a little perplexed and unconvinced, and brought the window back up nevertheless.

The Colonel turned back and headed to the mobile Tactica, which was approximately 100 yards away.

"Lisbon," the Colonel resumed his chat, "I'm heading back to Tactica, get ready to channels all patrols. We have to initiate defensive protocols. Get me the Haliapthen Marshall Provost at once."

"_Zzzzzt….zsttsss…"_ there was only static.

He tapped his ear-vox, "Lisbon, do you copy?"

"_Zzzzzt….Colonel…Zttss…ris….."_

The static still lingered.

"Fuck, Lisbon!"

"_zzzzst…Duke Colonel Boris….ssstsssszzzz…."_

A scrambled, synthesized voice became more audible.

"_Duke Colonel Boris Akim."_

"Lisbon, what the hell is wrong with the Vox?

"_Duke Colonel Boris, you are no longer in communication with Third Officer Lisbon Treaty."_

"What the hell…who the fuck are you?" the Colonel stopped in his steps.

"_This is Valaruz 18th of the Vindicare Temple, Officio Assassinorum"_

"The Officio Assassinorum," a chill just went down his spine, hairs raised. He stopped breathing and eyes looked over the horizon. Everything fell deaf and silent, with only the Assassin's voice audible._ What the hell is the Assassinorum doing here?_

"_There would be no other participants in this conversation. You are hereby commanded to keep this conversation confidential or you shall be condemned to death for Treason and Heresy."_

"These are strange times for the intervention of the Assassinorum," the Colonel tried to remain calm; he knew what agents of the Assassinorum are capable of. He looked around in paranoia, he was sure that the Assassin was watching him from somewhere.

"_In the event of the operational incapacity of the Inquisition during a Holy Mission, the Imperial Codex, Section XI Assassinorum Inderialis dictates the next ranking Agent be placed in command to execute and accomplish the Holy Mission. _

_Hence, in the stead of an Inquisitorial Precedence, the Assassinorum requisitions the 5th Haliapthen Fighters in the name of Purging Heresy."_

"'Operational Incapacity'? 'Inquisition'?" The Duke Colonel raised his voice, "What the hell is going on here?! Who are these enemies?!"

"_Initial sightings indicate that the assailants are marked with the Black Carapace of the Adeptus Arbites._

_The Adeptus Arbites has formed an assault perimeter around the procession route; an assault is calculated to take place in under fifteen minutes. Current strength and size count unknown, with mechanized armor consisting of Hellhounds and Repressors entrenching the back lanes of the procession routes."_

The Duke Colonel sucked his lips inwards, his mind raced to put all the elements in place; _the Adeptus Arbites have turned on us. For what reason?_

"_Intelligence indicates the assailant's battle plan is to induce panic and disorder upon the public. In the midst of confusion, they are expecting your forces to be divided and be drawn to the front. The core of their operations is to assault your mid-right flank and break your defensive Stormtrooper line…_

_Their main objective is to abduct the Governor."_

"Wait a minute!" the Duke Colonel barked, "How verified are all these?!"

"_The Assassinorum has been monitoring communications between elements of the attackers for the last hour."_

"What?!" the Colonel was taken aback, "You mean that this has been made known to you for the last hour, and nothing has been done to warn us?"

"_That is correct."_

"And that have just cost me nearly forty of my men's lives!" the Duke unleashed his temper, "What exactly is your mission, Assassin?! What the hell are you here?! What's your objective?!"

"_You lack sufficient clearance to access to the mission's profile."_

"NO! This is unacceptable! I deserve to know what's going on!"

"_You request has been denied. Time is running out Colonel, you will comply without question." _

"THIS IS RIDICULOUS," The Duke Colonel flustered in disbelief, he paced back and fourth, "ASSASSIN, I NEED TO PERSONALLY VERIFY THIS THREAT. YOU WILL SEND ALL INFORMATION TO TACTICA."

"_Negative, the window for action will be open for only nine minutes. Time is insufficient."_

"I REFUSE," the Duke Colonel growled, "HOW DO I KNOW IF YOU AREN'T THE ASSAILANTS THEMSELVES?"

"_Your trust is not required, Duke Colonel, only your unquestioning obedience."_

"Then you won't have it," The Duke Colonel bit back, "This is my army, and I shall NOT be coerced."

"_It would be imprudent to refuse the Assassinorum's authority."_

The Duke Colonel breathed harder.

"_Perhaps you require a little motivation. Look to your left, on the building's highest terrace."_

His heart nearly jumped out as he turned his head. Seeing as the head of a female civilian explode, her body flung over the railings and fell into the crowd below.

Screams ensued.

The Colonel stood as still as a tombstone, his heart-rate jumped.

"_Was it enough…?"_

"…….NO!"

"…_the Stormtrooper on your far right."_

He turned and felt despair. Blood sprayed thick into the air, with the Stormtrooper's body slumping onto the ground. Two other Stormtroopers ran towards his aid.

"_Order your men to stand down and move along…_

… _lest they'll share the same fate."_

Master Sergeant Voz realized the attack and ran towards the Duke Colonel, "SNIPER FIRE!!!! GET DOWN, MILORD, GET DOWN!"

The Duke Colonel pushed the Sergeant away, eyes wild with panic, "NO…! NO…! MOVE! MOVE FORWARD!"

All Stormtroopers looked at the Colonel.

"Move Forward! This is an order from your LORD! Leave him behind!"

Master Sergeant Voz looked at the Duke Colonel in disbelief, "Milord, what …"

"MOVE! Before I'll kill you myself!" his mouth frothed.

Everyone switched a confused gaze between the dead Stormtrooper and the Duke Colonel. One of the Stormtrooper disregarded the order and lifted the dead comrade's arm around his neck.

In that instance, the Colonel drew his sidearm and pointed towards them, "MOVE! THIS IS AN ORDER! MOVE, EMPEROR BE DAMNED! MOVE!!!!"

The Stormtrooper slowly dropped the dead, and both picked themselves up, hesitantly joining back the line. All looked back dishearteningly at their dead comrade.

"_7 minutes remaining. Have I made my point, Duke Colonel?"_

"Ye….yes," the Duke Colonel was already wheezing, replacing his sidearm; he tore his gaze away from his troops.

"_We shall waste no more time, Colonel. You will comply with the following orders: _

_The Assailants will launch an attack from the front to divert your forces. Your army will engage them. But their core objective is to break your right flank, to eliminate your Stormtrooper's defense line and abduct the Governor."_

The Duke Colonel waited.

"_You will allow them to abduct the Governor."_

"What?!"

"_You will not impede the assailants' attempt to seize the Governor, your armies will shift forward and eliminate the diversionary force."_

"…and leave our rear and flanks vulnerable? The casualties will be catastrophic! What if you're wrong about their main objective? What if their sole purpose is to destroy the entire the 5th Haliapthen Fighters?"

"_It would not be in our interest if the entire 5th is crippled, your forces are crucial in defending this sector. At the moment, co-operate, the Assassinorum will see to it that the diversion be eliminated efficiently." _

Sweat drenched down the Duke Colonel's face. This situation was already out of his hands…if he went against the Assassinorum, the Assassin would gladly end his life and take charge of his soldiers. The consequences would probably be much dire.

His duty was to his Regiment; his responsibility was to command his soldiers to victory. He was not ready to give that up.

"Very well, Assassin," he said bitterly.

BOOM!

A distant explosion startled him. He crouched immediately in natural reaction. A sea of screams and a plume of black smoke ensued with the Imperial Anthem halted. All eyes turned towards the explosion, he followed suit and saw to the front of the procession. Bursts of energy fizzed and crackled in the air.

"_The enemies have begun their assault. It is time Colonel, move your troops forward."_

The Duke Colonel stunned as he took a step forward.

"_Repressors are firing smoke screens! Hostile Hellhounds are massing to the North, they are burning everyone in their way!"_

It was Lisbon; he was back on his Vox Channel.

"_We have a visual on the enemy! Black Carapace…! It's the Adeptus Arbites…they are firing on us! They are armed with Xeno weaponry! By the Emperor! What's going on!?"_

The Colonel listened, and the feeling of defeat and sadness drowned his heart. He looked at everyone and there was only fear and panic, anguish and surprise. The soldiers were all barking at each other, all dazed and confused, some taking cover behind structures, some led men to charge to the front lines.

"Duke Colonel!" Master Sergeant Voz ran up to his lord, "WHAT'S GOING ON?!"

Everyone was betrayed.

He gripped himself, balling his fists in rage.

"Sergeant, gather your men."

"Lisbon, this is Duke Colonel Boris," he spoke through his ear-vox grimly, "I am going to give my command, relay it through the Procession's Mass-Vox Cast…" the procession Mass-Vox cast was a powerful speaker fixed to the mobile Tactica. It whined as the volumes were adjusted, making sure it was loud enough to drown the fighting that was taking place.

"Men and Women of Haliapthen Fighters! Hear me! We have been blinded, breached, ambushed and dishonored by cowards. The cowards that is the Adeptus Arbites. Remember their Black Carapace. Remember their betrayal. Remember this Holy Day which they have chosen to desecrate.

Advance! Advance to the front! Bear your arms high, show no mercy and eliminate the Traitors!

FOR THE EMPEROR! BURN THE HERETICS! KILL THE MUTANT! PURGE THE UNCLEAN."

"HAAANAAAAA! Blood for our Blades! Blood for our Blades!"

"Stormtroopers, on me! We shall restore Glory to our Emperor's name!"

"HAAANAAAAA!" all the soldiers cried out, "Blood for our Blades! Blood for our Blades!"

***

Time: 1229

The Governor watched as the crowd dispersed in chaos, everyone ran against the direction of the assault taking the place in the forefront. He swiftly opened the doors of his Imperial Carrier; every soldier was up in their arms, wading against the massive civilian rush in near futility.

He saw the Duke Colonel, with the Stormtrooper unit surrounding on his position.

"DUKE COLONEL!" the Governor made his way to the Duke.

"GOVERNOR, STAY INSIDE!"

"I DEMAND TO KNOW WHAT IS GOING ON!"

"THE PROCESSION HAS BEEN AMBUSHED, YOU HAVE TO STAY INSIDE," the Colonel ordered sternly.

The Governor shook his head, "WE HAVE TO MOVE TO A SAFER LOCATION!"

A speeding Imperial Rhino was brought up from the rear and stopped before them, the tracks dripping with blood, with human flesh wedged between the threads.

The Colonel swallowed, "GOVERNOR, YOU WILL STAY HERE. YOU'LL BE SAFE," he turned away and gestured all the Stormtroopers to board the Rhino.

"NO! I CAN'T STAY HERE, LET ME COME WITH YOU!" the Governor almost begged.

The Colonel looked towards Voz, "SERGEANT VOZ? HAVE TWO MEN ESCORT THE GOVERNOR BACK TO THE CARRIER."

In that instance, the Governor saw an apologetic emotion scribing all over the Colonel's face, "I'm sorry," the Colonel blurted out. Something was amiss.

Two Stormtroopers broke from formation and whisked the Governor towards the Carrier.

"NO! YOU CAN'T LEAVE ME HERE! COLONEL!"

"Let's move," the Duke Colonel ordered the rest to board the Rhino; he took a final glance at the struggling Governor, before he joined up with the rest.

As the hatch of the Rhino closed, he sat down buckled up.

The crackle of the Vox came in again.

"_Zssst…Duke Colonel…ssez"_

"_This is Valaruz 18th, you are with your men and you are not required to respond. I have uploaded the path of least resistance through the city. Have the driver follow the route; it will lead you to the frontlines._

_I have also identified key targets that I will assist in eliminating; their profiles have been sent to your sub-net. Make them and their positions known to your Lieutenants. Have them destroyed should opportunities prevail, it should considerably weaken their attack coordination."_

"Valaruz 18th," the Colonel turned to his side and whispered in anger. He was not happy with the situation at all. Despite his growing battlelust, deep inside, he was livid and infuriated for being coerced and danced about like a marionette. In further aggravation, he was forced abandoned the Governor, an upstanding, defenseless man, for no apparent reasons. Worst of all, there was nothing he could do about it. "Do you have anything else on the attackers? I have heard reports that they are armed with Xeno weaponry."

"_Satellite imaging confirms that the designs are of Xeno origins. We have also managed to get a name through one of their communication relays to ascertain their loyalties. The name had Xeno syllables and it was fed through the Deathwatch database. Several matches were returned, but the closest profile would be a Xeno spotted leading aggressive Tau skirmishes across Imperium Colonies in the Outer Fringes." _

The Colonel could not be sure if he heard it right, "Tau…?"

"_There have been no visual contact, but we are convinced that the attack is being led by a Captain-ranking equivalent Tau warrior, designated as Shas'el Ky'lek."_

The Colonel was overwhelmed, how could the Tau manage to influence the Adeptus Arbites? Turning one of the Imperium's most loyal elements against their own? He went through his dataslate, accessing his sub-net to review all the key targets uploaded by the Assassin.

"Valaruz 18th, the alien's profile is not in the sub-net," the Colonel tried looking for Shas'el Ky'lek's profile amidst the list of key targets.

"_Negative, Shas'el Ky'lek is not part of the list and would not be operating at the front-lines. He is on board a Repressor that is due to carry out an assault on the Imperial Carrier from the South."_

"He is part of the flanking mission?" the Duke Colonel breathed out.

"_Yes, he has just mobilized from his staging area. He will be leading a squad of defective Arbitrators to capture the Governor."_

"And…and we are going to just…just…sit back and watch them take the Governor?" the Colonel rubbed his tired face.

The Assassin did not reply.

The Colonel exasperated, "What is going to happen to him?"

The Assassin did not reply.

"Assassin?"

"_Milord?" _

Lisbon was back on the Vox Channel, the Assassin has disconnected again.

"Nothing, Lisbon" the Colonel said wearily, fidgeting uncomfortably in his seat, "Disregard what I said, carry on."

The Duke Colonel laid back, closed his eyes and spoke a prayer…

_Governor Vladimir_, _may the Emperor have mercy on your soul._

(…to be continued)

* * *

**Author's Postamble (if there's such a thing): I hope that was entertaining for you guys. I have at least written this four to five times and have much content and backstory to it. Might actually write author an entire spin-off to it. In any case, do leave a review if you've enjoyed what you've read so far.**

**Have a good week.**


	27. Chapter 23: Jopalli

Author's Preamble: Many thanks to those have reviewed. I'm feeling a little embarrassed because I have not taken the time to reply to your kind reviews or to start writing new chapters. It has been too long I reckon. But work is hectic and I can only find so much time to write. But I'll cut the preamble short.

About Interlude: Traitoris: I am planning to place the continuation of the Interludes throughout the rest of the story. There will be at least two more parts to it. So you won't get to read it all at once.

Orcmaster: Good guess, but how the story will develop will be rather extensive. So keep an eye out.

pyrotorch: Thank you for highlighting the Rhino issue, I will re-check it and make amendments.

numbuhsixty-six: Much apologies, not much excuses, but reasons that its on hiatus is simply because of work. Plus, I would not want to compromise on quality. I hope I can find more time to dedicate to finishing the story.

All your support, reviews and encouragement counts. Read and Review please. And a Happy 2010.

XXIII – Jopalli

"Fuck," Lynn Lurista muttered under her breath, she could feel her lungs tighten and her temples hot. _The nerve of that fucking Jopalli, who the hell he think he is?_

The Jopalli, without an incision of anger on his face, traces of devastation devoid, turned and walked out of the Munitorum. The defiant, apathetic Lieutenant stoically received her destructive ban like a mere bite of an ant. His eyes betrayed no emotions, no fear…the form of indifference that became the cause her head to spin. Blood pumped out of her ventricle chambers, flushing straight to her face that made her blush in bright red.

Granted, the Jopalli was no stranger to the Temple's denizens. His fame was instantaneous from the day one of the temple trials, drawing speculations and monetary bets from the Temple's enclave of instructors. Many would only take a brief glance at the physically inferior Koch, and conclude that his days in the temple would be short and merciless, yet he seemed to live by through the grueling trainings and horrendous attention conditioning of the NETU. The instructors reviewed his performance in both – he was not to last, he was the worst performer. They shook their head in bemusement, nonchalantly exchanging Imperial Marks while continually jest how thoroughly he was going to get cooked in the NETU.

There also has been rumors that the Jopalli desperately dependent on drugs to sustain his performance.

Lynn had a small pool of Imperial Marks for Koch. And her favor was merely out of intrigue, that someone with such physical shortcomings could outlast the other thousands. But the intrigue soon swelled into personal interest when an Archivist of the Temple traded information on the Jopalli's military profile in return for a sexual favor. After all, bets could roll into a quite a hefty sum and Lynn could be anything but congenial when it comes to losing.

_The arrogance, _her lips piped and trembled at Koch's snide demeanor, recounting the minute of micro-expressions on his face, and could not quite unknot the oddity of his behavior.

***

_The Archivist rubbed his chin wolfishly as he moved closer to the Lieutenant, his hand running down her cheeks as they were delicate porcelain, "It wasn't easy assembling the nuts and bolts for this one. This tale has numerous gaps here and between, but fascinating nonetheless. And I'd tell you this much that a Marksman this one is not." _

"_Oh, delightful…seems then I'm in for a good yarn," she smiled cheekily, causing the Archivist to giggle._

"_Oh yes," the skinny, bearded man advanced at Lynn suggestively, licking his parched lips,"…I hope that your attention span would be intact when your thighs are weak...I've been waiting for this long enough."_

"_Ah, ah…" she stopped him, "I'd have a prelude to your work first, thank you…or else, I wouldn't know how… much… I should compensate you for," she smiled playfully. _

"_Hmm," the Archivist pondered for a moment, "Aren't you the bargainer...heheh, although I'd warn you with the amount of materials that I've gathered, I'm more than confident that you'd be thoroughly worn," He walked over to his armoire, one hand fished for a stowed bottle of hard liquor, the other produced two empty glasses, "Fancy a drink?"_

"_I perform better when I'm sober," she declined with a chagrin etched on her face, sitting on the foot of his bed, "…and you may begin."_

"_Hmmm, interesting…" the Archivist downed a glass full of liquor, giggling like a little boy unable to contain his excitement, "Koch Dessler…." He poured his second glass, "It probably wouldn't take you long to guess that he is a genius of sort, would it?"_

"_That's why you're here," she smiled sheepishly._

"_Haha," he laughed out loud, "Well, he is. Like all prodigies, he started off at the Eastligen Militant Schola, the Jopalli counterpart for the Imperium's Schola for Exceptional talents. His father was a Chief Administor for the Jopalli Indentured Squadron and the mother was an assistant Researchus of a Sanctioned Apothecary Research Centre. Commonfolks of Imperium, really. _

_A very young Dessler graduated at twelve with Honorary Academicus Merits and soon began his two-year IG training in the Marielles Bootcamp. Upon completion of his drills at the age of fourteen, he was drafted into the Medicae Corp of the Jopalli Indentured Squadron and was quickly bathed in the baptism of fire. He moved through with speed. Within six months in the field, he was promoted to Class Alpha, a feat that usually takes sixteen months of field experiences. _

_And I'll quote from his official citation, 'Specialist Dessler is an extremely knowledgeable, focused and outstanding Combat Medicae Technician. Within the short frame of time of experience, he has able to execute his field tasks with skill, precision and accuracy, and he does so even under tremendous pressure with efficiency and steadfastness.'_

"_Clearly not just a simple CMT," Lynn smirked, drawing an unfamiliar but euphoric sense of pride. The Archivist was now seated next to her, leaning forward, trying to catch her scent._

"_Indeed not…" he boldly stuck out his tongue and gave a long swipe up from at the base of neck, "Emm, of course, like most, a prodigy is not without flaws." He lapped his tongue on her neck, "By the end of his first year in service, the Jopalli started shooting out warning flares like it was the Horus Heresy," he chuckled, "Quoted by his Corporal - 'Specialist Dessler is certainly proficient in aspects of field surgery and procedures. However, on more than one occasions, he blatantly chooses to disregard protocols and employs highly risky field operations that has jeopardized the well-being and morale of his patients and squad-mates."_

"_Well-being and morale?" Lynn was intrigued. _

"_His misdemeanors had no traces hardened into official Corporal records. There were no enquiries or investigations whatsoever either. The only accusations were merely comments in appraisals. But suffice to say whatever the Jopalli did, it was enough to rattle the spines of his comrades." the Archivist cupped and caressed one of her breasts, pinching her budding flesh playfully from the surface of her jumpsuit, causing Lynn to squeal slightly, "…And it gets interesting."_

"_Emm, that is very interesting," she held him back, "But I can't risk you leaving out details while you're preoccupied with all these groping around, can I?"_

"_You offend me, Lynn, I could even tell the story backwards the middle of coital bliss," he pursed his lips cheekily._

"_Of that I do no doubt," she smiled broadly, "But with such an interesting prelude, I have a feeling it will get better, then your reward will be even more substantial, yes?" she bit her bottom lips and leaned forward, "Come on, impress me."_

"_Why…" he swallowed down and chuckled nervously while rubbed his hands around her waist, "Why, aren't you a witch?" He cleared his head and sat upright with perfect posture, taking his eyes off her and stared forward to focus, "Ok…okay…Where were we? Oh yes… _

_Throughout his career for the next three years, more official complaints surfaced. They were grievances on the methods and decisions the Jopalli carried out in the battlefield that virtually brought down a firestorm amongst the non-coms. _

_But what was even more bizarre was that, despite an accumulated amount of complaints by the age of seventeen, instead of being in the receiving end of Disciplinary Actionas, he instead became the youngest Jopalli to have ever received the rank of a Corporal-Specialist."_

"_Hmm," she seemed impressed, "Sounds like whatever that he was doing, the top-brass did not have a problem with it."_

"_I had similar notions," he nodded. "But that wasn't all that was, for the lack of a better term, noteworthy, about Koch. _

_A year afterwards after his promotion to a Corporal. The Black Tide was washed upon the fringes of the Jopalli world."_

"_Black Tide?" Lynn narrowed her eyes, "The Black Tide was to do with a brutal Dark-Eldar Raid on one of the Jopalli satellite planets, no?"_

"_Oh," the Archivist raised his eyebrow, impress, "Yes, yes indeed, the unknown, dark spots in Jopalli's military history." He looked at her for a moment, his intellectual passion stirring, "although, I'm curious, where did you hear of this?"_

_She shrugged, "The grapevine, passing of lips…? Who knows? All that I have heard was that it roused quite a fair bit of interest."_

"_I see," The Archivist loosened his shoulder, attempting to hide a leak worth of disappointment, "I would not be surprised that most are unaware, however, because truth to the fact is, there was little I could find out from the mainstream channels."_

_Lynn listened intently. _

"_The Black Tide was the Militant codename for a brief skirmish to defeat the Xeno raid on Joppex V – the Jopalli's satellite planet three years ago. According to the official declaration by the Supreme Commander, a massive Dark- Eldar Raid Party overran the only Joppex's outpost, and had most of the stationed Squadrons either killed or enslaved to be readily transported out of the system. The planet was eventually liberated by the main Jopalli force two days later…where they claimed to have 'Successfully' eliminated the Dark Eldars threat and left none of the Xenos alive. _

_But of course, mere statements as such is hardly compelling evidence or clues to what really transpired in Joppex V, so to my immense curiosity, I've attempted to access the full accounts of the skirmish. But I quickly found out it was kept confidential and locked out by the Jopalli Administrators. No battle reports or documents whatsoever were released, only the aforementioned Supreme Commander statement on the Operation's success._

_The Supreme Commander's statement spanned three pages, detailing the timeline and resources committed to defeating the Raid Party. It reeked, however of secrets and conspiracies, failing to mention an immediate edict to have a Planetary Quarantine imposed upon Joppex V by the Ordo Militant. One that would effectively shut down its space ports, ceasing all operations with trading restrictions stacked high."_

"_Curious," Lynn cocked his head sideways, "A planetary Quarantine?"_

"_Yes, and that, a Planetary Quarantine that still continues to be in effect even until today," he paused. _

"_However, failing to acquire more notes and clues from Jopalli's internal database, I continued digging, and this time through Joppex's neighboring systems' and planets' archives. I filtered to the dates and time of the Black Tide, and this time, I've manage to trace a single S.O.S. message that was replicated into four different System emergency encoders._

_The S.O.S. was dated at the time when Black Tide had just begun, when the hundreds of Dark Eldar Corsairs descended from the Stratosphere, their black hulls speeding down to blanket the skies and blotting out the suns. _

_The S.O.S. was a War Package, recording almost four hours worth of dictations, it bundled Sit-reps as well as casualty counts. It was vividly described - the Xenos' masochistic cunning and their savagery. And the Squadron was ill prepared for the coming onslaught, where fast Black Ships armed with sophisticated weaponry blitzed through the defenses and massacred everything they could stumble over. Survivors were rounded up with consciousness intact, having their limbs and organs taken apart piece by piece."_

_Lynn has now committed all of her attention to his findings._

"_But of course, to the point, the most crucial element of the War Package was that it consist an ensemble of those who survived the initial blitz. I managed to list down the so-called 'survivors' – they were a Jopall Indentured platoon of at least thirty-three man strong, of role, I think, was pivotal to what transpired during the Black Tide. _

"_Oh," Lynn sat forward._

"_Again, not knowing who they were as well as most of their records during the Black Tide was locked out, I, instead, cross-referenced the thirty-three's names as well as those of their spouses and kin into various databases. The InterSectorial Medicae Correspondence database flashed an entry of a patient, a child belonging to one of the survivors that was based in the Jopalli Homeworld. The correspondence, dated two days after the end of the Black Tide, was between the Jopalli's and Newark Celtar's, a neighbouring planet, Chief Pediatric Medicae, requesting a consult in regards to a set of 'unfamiliar symptoms' that appeared on the child's body._

_The correspondence had no follow-up, no replies nor referrals to other Medicae. The child's name, as well as the family's no longer recurred in any of the Jopalli's systems. The father, one of the surviving soldiers, was listed as M.I.A. a day after."_

"_Sounds like it was standard Imperial Intelligence Security protocols to stem the spread of information. It could be that the Jopalli's militant was keeping an eye out on these 'survivors'," Lynn leaned back slightly, "…could there possibly be a viral outbreak?"_

"_It could very well be," he shrugged, "Rogue Traders' internal memorandum highlighted that Joppex V is currently placed under a Sectium Ordas, an absolute ban based on inhospitable environment. Rumors added that the population has already been wiped out by almost by two-thirds in less than three years. Interplanetary trade Statistics supports this fact, showing trade with Joppex V has dropped, more or less, by that corresponding amount."_

"_If all these are true, then it is plausible that killer virus was released into Joppex V's biosphere," Lynn frowned slightly, pausing for thought, "Then, what is the significance of the surviving platoon that you've mentioned?"_

"_At this point, I'll let you connect the dots although I do have some theories on my own," he turned dreary, "But like I said, the full accounts of the incident was blotted out by Jopall, so I did not have much success determining the specific role that the surviving platoon played in the Black tide. _

_However, like the father of the patient, official records of the Imperial Guard soon pronounced most the members of the surviving platoon to have been killed in action or M.I.A., all in a chronological sequence within thirty days since the beginning of the Black Tide. _

_Three of them however, survived beyond the thirty days...and even more so, got promoted. Would you be surprised if I told you that Koch Dessler was one of them?"_

"_From a Specialist to a Lieutenant? Not at all…" she gave a sultry smile and raised an eyebrow playfully. _

"_Heh," he smiled back, he pulled her front-zipper down to her cleavage and inserted his hands to feel her flesh, "Well, I've told a marvelous story, haven't I?"_

"_Yes, but that wasn't the end." She teasingly backed off, his hand slipped out from her jumpsuit. _

"_No, and you'll be getting the rest of it after I've fucked you," the Archivist insisted._

"_But you can't leave me hanging when it is so close to the climax," she re-approached him brushed her body against the Archivist, nibbling him on the earlobe and making him to groan, "Go on…keep talking," her tongue lapped in his ears, her hand caressing his thighs, whispering seductively, "I'm geting excited…"_

"_Oh, oh….that's good, okay…okay," he breathed erratically._

_She stopped almost immediately, "You don't sound too focused now," she pulled away leaving him dazed, "…but that's just a taste of what you'd be getting. So you best keep your head together and finish the story."_

_He could not speak for moment, but he controlled his breathing, and quickly jumped back into his narrative, "Yes, yes, okay…." He drew in a deep, long breath, he mumbled to himself before clearing his throat and continued on. _

"_After the Black Tide, only three out of the thirty tree names were ever active and have recurred in the Imperial Archives," the Archivist quickly regained his composure, and began talking as per normal, "They were Hans Heckler, Benny Zimmer and, of course, Koch Dessler. _

_Heckler and Zimmer were Privates during the Black Tide…MERE PRIVATES whom received their respective battlefield commissions almost instantaneously after the Dark Eldar's defeat. They were given the Captain's chevrons, Executioner Pistols and their Squadrons under their wings. They were described to be 'instrumental in the defeat of the Dark Eldar Raid Party in Joppex V.'_

_Koch, on the other hand, was given, or him requested rather, a different career path. They included him into staff, probably figured it would have made better use of his brains, hence, earning himself a role as a Junior Intelligence Officer S1 in the Frontfield Battle Tactica._

_Unlike Hans and Benny, whom were given the tasks of hollering at footsoldiers and hurling grenades from the trenches, Koch was now seated comfortably behind a desk with initial tasks that were altogether meager and mundane. He mined for data and engaged in a million of minute technical tasks for several months. And from thereon, his responsibilities expanded, where he was trained to map logistics for the wounded and supplies, then fighting personnel and warmachines, like Leman Russes and Basilisks. And it was not long before he was given the task to analyze combat reports, threat analyses; and shortly became one of the key authors of the Militant's Strategic Stratagems at a Campaign level. _

_By the twentieth month, he ascended and soared through the hierarchy and became the bore an official title as the personal aide to the Tactica Overseer – Colonel Unser Klummer, who was a member of the Imperial War Mentors, an advisory panel to the Jopalli Supreme Commanders. He was then already a Second Lieutenant."_

"_Second Lieutenant," Lynn relate quickly to the Lieutenant, "His career did not stop there."_

"_No…because came the twenty-fourth month a twist that turned everything around," he looked delightfully into Lynn's eyes, pausing. _

"_The twenty-fourth month," he repeated with a grin, "…was when the Inquisition arrived in Jopall."_

"_Oh…" Her playful exterior was quickly reduced to a concerned gaze. The mention of the Inquisition sent a shiver down her spine. _

"_Lord Tymarche and his retinue arrived at the planet announcing an edict that caused much fervor and curiosity," he was now studying Lynn and the effect of his story, "They were to detain Second Lieutenant Koch Dessler, Captain Hans Heckler, Captain Benny Zimmer, Colonel Unser Klummer, Major Kilpatrick Artach along with five other top brass, of which includes two Brigadiers, two other Captains and a Sergeant Major. The specifics of the charges are not known to me, but in some way or another, I gather that all of them must had a hand in the Black Tide and ergo, the fate of Joppex V."_

"_Wait, hold on…when did all of this happen? When were they indicted?" she frowned at the thought of having a candidate that has irked the wrath of the Inquisition._

"_From the day of the Lord Tymarche's ?" he maintained his wide smile, "Sixty eight days ago."_

"_Fuck," Lynn fell silent, trying to connect the dots, "That doesn't make sense."_

"_It doesn't, does it?" the Archivist laughed out loud, "And you're probably wondering why in the Emperor's name Koch is here when he should be in claws of the Inquisition. You haven't at all been long with the Assassinorum, dear Lynn, but it really goes to illustrate the way the Temple works, that it is all the more likely that we're attracting less than conventional candidates. Our halls are filled with rejects, convicts and heretics. The Assassinorum's Appointment Edicts are the perfect excuse for the top brass to rid their organizations of the unwanted."_

"_Cut to the chase, Archivist," Lynn turned sour, "How is it that the Jopalli manage to end up here?"_

"_My, my…" he produced a dastardly smile, "...you ARE feisty. But wouldn't you want to hear what happened to those indicted?" _

_Lynn did not utter a word, nor did she draw a single breath. _

_The archivist's smile was now as big as ever; "My source from Jopall told me, that it was somewhat three weeks ago when the same Inquisitorial ship that arrived for the ten Jopallis returned. It was relayed that the all that were indicted have been incarcerated, their fate bound and pending for a death sentence, except for one, the one out of the ten Jopallis, who got away. _

"_Lieutenant Koch Dessler," his eyes opened wide, "…he got promoted." _

_His excitement grew for seeing Lynn so engrossed in his work, "That was terribly stimulating, wasn't it…?" he reached forward and licked her lips, breathing hard on her. But Lynn seemed to have lost in thought, no longer emanating the same sexuality that she had from before. _

"_I think I've heard enough," she pushed him away, sighing, and zipping up her jumpsuit. _

"_Huh…?!" the Archivist panicked, "What…?!"_

"_I've lost it," she said simply, getting up and headed towards the door. _

"_Shit…! What the fuck!?" his eyes wild and frantic, "Bitch! We had a deal!"_

_She adjusted herself before she gingerly stepped out of room, leaving behind the dazed and confused Archivist, cursing and screaming in frustration. _

***

Koch Dessler is anything but simple if the Archivist's findings were true. The Jopalli has flourished into an obsession for the Munitions Instructor. He was like a closed tome that she could not read. For his infractions, she supposed she could just report what he had done to the Commissar and let that old cunt determine his fate. But what good would that do for her? She did not really give a fuck about the Temple or their ignorant rules, she just wanted to dirty her hands with his blood, if not literally.

Koch had disgraced her, and she was not going to let it slide.

"Fuck you all," she muttered under her breath before the rest of the nervous candidates, pushing through everyone and made her way to find Koch. Her thoughts were jammed with Koch's past, his motives, his possible weaknesses. Her hand reached towards her holster, feeling the deathly cold metal. She had no plans, no schemes, but just a hungry, generalized wish for revenge.

She guessed Koch would return to his personal chamber, and predicted the path that he was going to take and emulated it. She quickened her pace to cover the connecting corridors and flights of stairs. Her adrenaline pulsated, pumping furiously hoping to see him at the next turn. She arrived at the Candidate's Chambers, and there he was, just before his room, his frame ferrying a wizened, tired soul. To many, he would seem frail and weak, but yet, she could feel volatility spewing out like poisonous gas. It summed into danger.

The hair on her back raised, sending chills into her bones. She recognized the feeling, it was intimidation.

Her hand removed her weapon, her hand shaking, her aim feeble.

She pulled the trigger.

***

Darkness.

"MMMfff…!" his eyes opened open with all muscles reacting in a violent fashion. He was gagged, stripped stark naked, with hands and legs tied to heavy chains that held down him flat on a slab of concrete. His tried raising his head as high as he could, with the first sight that greeted him was a svelte, petite silhouette standing before a dank, moldy room.

The plasters on the walls were bare, with exposed bricks hosting large fields of green fungi. Waterspots were visible all across the room, with rusted pipes leaked volumes that filled the room with coppery scent. But as his struggled, his nose quickly picked up a burst of intense exotic perfume, and from his confused state, his mind started to process the stimuli that sparked a trail of memories.

The Munitorum came to mind, and he could feel the rage that burned in the woman's eyes. He could taste her insanity and madness layered underneath her sexual intensity. He remembered turning away from her and walking out of the chamber, completely ignoring the demented woman.

Then he felt a sharp pain in his neck, his vision slightly groggy. A simple diagnostic deduced that he was probably incapacitated by some form of neurotoxin. Harmless.

He breathed in, keeping his composure and slowly allow his vision to adjust to the dim lights.

The Weapon's Instructor…

She held a cigarette close to her face, the burning ash illuminated her flawless, dreary face, absent of emotions, merely studying the Jopalli quietly.

"To be honest," she begun, sighing heavily, "I'm disappointed, I had assumed an intelligent asshole like you could have easily averted debacles such as these. Yet, here you are…"

Koch continued breathing steadily.

She suddenly burst into a manic laughter, "Oooohhh, how silly of me to have gagged you. All I want is to hear you the say the magical words that'll sooth my soul. Repair my wounded heart…" she pouted, drawing another plume of smoke, "But I suppose that sharp tongue would caution many, or it could be that gags are my favorite things, you should pray it's the latter." She chuckled.

"Now, you would not hurt your teacher's feelings, would you? If I had taken off that muffle of yours?" She walked up to him and looked down into his eyes, guiding a long, sharp needle in one hand to stab into his right triceps.

"UGhhhhhghhh!!!" Koch wailed in agony, his body stiffened as the needle pierced deep into the muscle.

"Aww, how sweet of you," she cooed, one hand untying the gag and hurled it into the corner of the room, "Now, what was the magic word that I want to hear?"

Koch just kept breathing, his eyes wide open, avoiding eye contact with Lynn.

"Come on, I'll forgive you if you just say the magic words…"

Koch grit his teeth and focused on breathing…"MMMMmmmmppPPpp!" he resisted all urge to scream as Lynn twitched the needle further into his wound.

"Hmm," Lynn licked her lips, biting her lower lip as she pulled out the needle swiftly, causing more pain to her captive, "Your head is as hard as rock, as expected," her other free hand perversely reached down to his groin to fondle, causing the Jopalli to cringe. Her lips moved close to suckle on his neck, before gnashing the skin on his neck with her teeth, causing him to wail in pain.

She moaned, throwing the needle aside and reached for her own bosom and crotch, as she harnessed the pleasure peaking from the Sadomasochistic encounter.

"How does it feel now, you fucking male chauvinist?" her fingers clawed into his skin, "You think your arrogance is of any use here? You're just as dispensable as any of the dead candidates. Yes, you're worth just that little no matter what you have achieved in the past." She spat at Koch, delivering a punch into his abdomen to further humiliate him. His mouth began to froth.

"Huh…!? Huh…?!" She slapped Koch wildly in the face multiple times, rallying his attention to her, "Yeah, I know your past, you're the whistle-blower. A traitor of trust invested in you by your liege. You are a cheap, dumb peddler of information whose reward was total abandonment by your masters. A useless, pariah dog unwanted for its stupidity.

Haha, did you ever think that being chosen for the Assassinorum's trials is a gift of honor? To those worthy? This Emperor-forsaken place is the perfect dumping ground of unwanted soldiers. 95% of the soldiers sent here barely meet the Temple's minimum requirement. You're probably here because your regiment has turned their back on you, the Inquisition has found no need for you, you're like a cheap whore, discarded after a cheap fuck. And once you've stepped into this Temple, you have ceased to exist. Your identity, your live has all been discarded, BAM, just like that, with a flick of a pen.

Pfft, and look at you…you're just that one tiny decimal. Part of statistics of those that did not die during the first phase. If you want to know, all of the instructors WAGED against you. You've fared the worst for all the physical trainings, its just a matter of time before you break down…and DIE. DIE AS A NOBODY.

YOU HAVE NO CHANCE," she snarled.

Koch had his eyes closed, as he gasped for breath, silent, barely responding to the crazed instructor.

"HAHAHAHA!" She laughed, "See how pathetic you are?" She zipped her jumpsuit down, "Still defiant and stubborn even at your lowest…" she revealed her compact and full grown body glistened in sweat, moving to the nearest stool to pick up some pills as well as an incision blade.

She grinned widely, moving towards Koch. She forced the pills she held in her hand into his mouth, another smothered him, forcing him to swallow, "It's a virulent Sildenafil, and it WILL give a vigorous boost to your erection. Your cock will not likely to go limp, whatever that might happen." She held up the blade, flashing it before him, "…and when you're ready, we're going to have some fun."


	28. Chapter 24: Rubicon

**Author's Preamble: I just realized a grave error. Doctors in WH40k are known as Medicae. Hence, Doctors shall be reverted to Medicae...i.e. Medicae Ally Damien.**

**I am deciding to rate this to Mature after the next chapter. Kindly add this story to your Story Alerts to make sure you're notified of the next release. **

**Read & Review Please

* * *

**

XXIV – Rubicon

A single caseless slug was unclipped from the rifle, releasing a bang into an auditory tide of gun-bursts. The solid-slug guided by perfect aim tore into space. It pierced and sliced into the bullet-ridden mannequin's forehead, creating a smoking, rounded hole in the dense platerized material.

She unaligned her eyes from the Autorifle's oversight, squinting slightly to examine the damage she has inflicted on the target over a hundred feet away. Her palms gripped the heavy mixed-alloy of at least several millennia old, feeling the heated weapon and shifted it about. She re-ascertained its weight, her eyes resting on the heaviness and the intricate, functional beauty of a relic. Unlike its mass-produced las descendents, it was a machine handcrafted and built to last. No less, it was more than ever an adornment that any soldier would proudly carry to their graves, to have it laying by their bodies in sarcophaguses as proof of their valour and strength.

Crafts of such sophistication were no longer produced for the masses of the 41st millennium. Time has allowed technological pathways to manufacture weapons at volumes in a greater quantum at a fraction cost, at the expense of course, on aesthetics, lifespan and durability. The very best, the expensive, were reserved for the Imperium's niche and elite few.

Comparisons were easily drawn, and the technological differences were glaring. The technology behind the slug-throwing mechanism, needless to say, was obsolete. Its accuracy would begin to deteriorate at a distance of two hundred feet. It was bulky in design and was absent of advance sinks that would efficiently dissipate the enormous heat generated by the rapid ammo discharge. The fifth magazine would effectively jam the machine. However, as many members of the Adeptus Mechanicus would agree, like all relic technology, they were generous in firepower. The Autorifle was unmatched at close range, where a single bullet was capable of punching through Class III armour. Lasrifles, on the other hand, could only impart cauterizing marks.

Its shortcomings notwithstanding, her scrutinizing did not deter her from drawing appreciation from the etchings and glyphs with origins from the 31st Millenium. She was an aficionado of martial weapons, a passion commonly run in the veins of the militaristic Symmachus. She was raised as a combatant with a combined formal education in a Prestigious Militant Schola. At a young age, she quickly cultivated fondness for antiquities of the Imperium's military arsenal. These relics told tales of her ancestors - the footmen and the Imperium's progenitors who won, defended and handed the Imperium down to the generation that was now.

It reminded her of her roots, and it strengthened her pride. Giving her more reasons to inherit the fervor and pledge of her forefathers to bring the fight to the Imperium's enemies.

And they, the forefathers who wielded these weapons, were claimed to be great and hardy warrior, no longer men of such stock were produced, many suggested. Such reasoning carried weight, these ancient weapons would require great skill, endurance and strength to operate. It was seventy pounds heavier, almost twice the weight of the weapon's modern counterpart. It lacked current technologies that would assist in marksmanship, therefore requiring the users to rely on elaborate training, experience and intuition to guide the bullet to hitting the mark. It was the limitations in technological aids that drove them to be greater warriors.

She rechecked the results of her practice, head stretching over and eye squinted to examine every bullet hole. She produced a smirk - a self-assuring smile that retold her confidence, faith and skills that was undiminished, still tightly fastened and unbroken even when she was put through the terrible, unrelenting torrents of torturous trainings and physical bashings. These were skills, her second nature, that would never fade away – training, focus and discipline, all incepted since she was a child. Allies, thicker and more dependable than most people that surrounded her. Unlike people, they were difficult to kill, they never betray. And for that, she depended on no one but herself.

_The real test, _epiphanies concocted,_ was probably against oneself_.

She turned to begin her trek back to the Munitorum. She had not forgotten the stringent instructions given by the Administrators. To practice within the Sanctum of Fire required strict compliance to the Temple's procedures. Only one weapon from the Munitorum was allowed at a time, and it was a hike through a network of confusing and poorly labelled corridors and tunnels all cramped within a dome-like structure. The Sanctum was located outside the Temple, stretching over twenty hectares, large enough to train a small army.

She exited the shooting range to make way towards the Munitorum where the other thousands of weapons were stored. The Chamber's auto-gates logged her exit, swinging wide open before letting in a gust of sheer force - a magnitude enormous in scale where firepower was measured. She could feel the tremors resonating off the walls and floors, with muffled explosions, blasts and gunfire ringing from adjacent chambers.

Although earlier dampened by the Assassinorum's proclaimed prodigy's sudden appearance, - Valaruz 17th, the other candidates were unfazed by the Munitions instructor's sudden departure. It did not bother them, but, on the other hand, provided the candidates what little chance they can to 'blow off some steam', as Oswald have expressed. They relish the break from their tormentors and they did not hesitate in arming themselves with whatever they fancied at the temple's arsenal. Carting off with Autocannons, Bolters, and even Missile Launchers. Hanging strings of ammunitions over their shoulders, hauling cartridges and boxes of slugs along.

She moved down the corridor, her imagination armed with the image of a glorious battlefield - a narrow valley rained down with projectiles of destruction. The dome's high rounded ceiling created atmospheric and spectacular volleys of booming echoes, the aural discharge peppered euphoria into the air. She could feel her heart pumping with adrenaline every thud, her excitement swelled while feeling the temperature rising with every projectile spent.

She moved quicker, her nimble feet guided by her curiosity that wrestled over her determination to 'mind her own business'. Against her conscience, she undertook a brief reconnaissance mission upon a wide court flashed with moving lights. She could feel a wave of intense heat emanating from the chamber. The Patrician spied through the glass gates, catching the sight of a sweat-drenched, brown-skinned man incinerating his targets with a flamer. She could not remember his name, but it was the Tallarnese other than Assir.

His suit was stripped down to his waist, hoisting a fuel tank on his back with legs rooted steadily to the ground, producing a wide grin as the ignited fuel licked everything within range except for the porous steel walls.

The Tallernese appeared to have the arson's fascination, unaware that Kira was stealthily spying on him. But a loud boom was erupted from somewhere, followed by a slight tremor. The Tallarnese halted, released the pressure trigger to reduce the barrel's pressure. Annoyance was evident on his face as he glanced to the source of the explosion. He looked back through the Auto-gates, and saw no one. Kira was already gone, dodging out of sight just in time and silently slipped away, not wanting to engage any invitation to any form of 'bonding'.

But her curiosity had not been sated, where she circled and climbed a few flight of stairs, the path leading her to an observation deck overlooking a large field of scorched earth. It stunk of fumes and was painted with destruction. Charred metals were scattered everywhere. Burns splashed on the walls and floors. She looked to her surrounding and decided to stay within the yellow-marked safety zone, looking over to the other end where a platform was constructed. She squinted to identify a small figure standing firm shouldering a large Missile Launcher.

A projectile then whistled before her; her eyes blinked to an instantaneous white flash; her reflexes provoked by the deafening boom; her balance thrown off by a gust of force. Her body instinctively curled inwards but remained steady and balanced. She opened her eyes after a full-second; a horizontal cloud of smoke was slowly dissipating before her and in a distance, the disintegration and utter destruction of a metal hulk. She looked towards the platform on the other end where the shooter hollered in excitement, "FUCK YOU! YEAH!" The white male unleashed a rowdy torrent of excitable cheers, "WHOO HOO!"

_Typical, _she sneered, irritated by the crass, uncultured behaviour. She could not stay there any longer, her eyes and ears were sore.

She moved on to the next destination, climbing flight of stairs after another. Before long, she stood before a junction, the right would lead her to the Munitorum, the other direction would lead her to the Sniping Training grounds. She hesitated for a moment, but she turned left towards Sniper's gallery, taking her through another series of corridors. At the end was a locked vault door, a sign indicated that it was occupied. She guessed that it was the Sniper's vantage point. She searched around and spotted another ladder, she guessed it would lead her upwards to an observation deck.

But she could not proceed, knowing that whatever that she would observe above would cause pain to her spirit. Her esteem was in the danger of being bruised, it would crush her spirit when she was being compared to candidates who were claimed experts of the Sniper Rifle.

She was indisposed to staring straight in the truth. Her courage teetered in the balance, her greatest disadvantage was in danger of being revealed.

She turned tail. Her curiosity was defeated.

* * *

The sights before her, however, quickly salvage the Patrician's mental fortitude from her wreck-pile of insecurities. The amount of stacked containers did not fail to overwhelm her, yet again. Weapon of various design and age were individually air-sealed in their respective casings, emanating age and history that were profound.

Dust particles ascended towards the bulbs hanging down from the ceiling, all spaced out evenly down all fifteen rows in the Munitorum. Her return from the Sanctum of Fire did not diminish her fascination, her eyes lit with strange wonder and curiosity.

She took her time to examine the weapons closely, stumbling upon a larger case. She peered through the glass panel housing an exquisite and monstrously-sized Halberd standing nine feet tall. From the thick of the hilt to the wide blade, the tiniest detail did not escape its maker's attention. It was a Force Weapon, designed for Librarians, Grey Knights and Psykers to imbue their psychic energy to make it an extremely potent melee weapon. It belonged to the late Brother Tomac Lotret of the Grey Knights, of gene-seed originated from the Primarch of Imperial Fist.

The Force weapon was described to weigh close to a half a tonne, and it rightfully should. From the glint of the crystallized-titanium encrusted shellac, to the wide, thick span of the diamentium blade, even without its wielder, gravity itself could pull down its weight to slice any mortal in two like hot blade through butter. It could sever a Daemon's head and flay the thickest of hides.

She felt a chill running down her spine, as such was the power of the Adeptus Astartes whom possessed the strength of Gods. They were the Emperor's Angels of Death, far superior to their mortal counterpart, wider in girth, and taller in height by a superior nominator.

Where the monstrosity of Daemons would trample the Universe and consume the Imperium, the Space Marines were the tip of the sword that has been forged not only to meet the Warp creatures head-on but to drive the offensive to the very gates of the Eye of Terror.

The Space Marines were once humans - sifted and chosen from candidates numbered in thousands. _Very much like Vindicare Assassins, _she guessed. Only the best would be granted the prized gift – the gene-seeds of the respective Space Marine chapter. Their bone structures were then enhanced, their body masses enlarged and the number and quality of vital organs added to combat immortal foes as well as the harshest of environments and injuries. They were engineered to be Supersoldiers, their purpose was to win thousands of battles, standing equally, if not greater, against malicious foes that would have driven Men to extinction.

She murmured a prayer, _Emperor watches over the Angels of Death whom protect the Imperium. _

"Most spectacular..." a familiar, friendly voice called out to the spell bound Patrician, prompting Kira to turn around.

It was Juydith.

"It's the entire collection of Vostroyan weapons dating back even to the 39th Millennium," she beamed with pride, "I recognize one of the Autocannons, it was engineered and blueprinted by one us Grussts. The model was put through the Mechanicus' mass production cycle circa 001.M34 during the Fourth Black Crusade."

Kira nodded slightly, but could think of few replies. She was not as savvy as Juydith where heavy weaponries were concerned. But it was just a matter of time before she could be as armed in knowledge as Juydith.

"Lieutenant Lurista had not been exaggerating when she said that agents of the Assassinorums are weaponry savants," Juydith continued, "The amount of care invested into the weapons is beyond reproach," Juydith continued her praise, "Every gun and ammunition are meticulously inventoried, labelled and maintained. Some of the ancients seemed like it was fresh from the forge. They even included a brief description of the weapons and history, the Munitorum could easily qualify for a museum."

"Indeed," Kira merely said. Unspoken words ran through her head.

Juydith's smile did not prolong, however. A sigh was released from her chest, "Kira..." she said softly.

The Patrician glanced towards Juydith, shocked by her words.

"We're going to die, aren't we?" the Vostroyan blurted, dispelling Kira's pensiveness.

"It's a cowardly thing to say, I know," the Vostroyan quickly added, lowering her head in shame, hiding her misty eyes, "My family would have disowned me."

_Family, _Kira immediately understood Juydith with a deep measure of sympathy, she was not in her best mental state herself, but she fully understood how she felt. Both of them shared a similar sense of pride and duty to their families, an inheritance of duty and responsibility that became a great honour and burden at the same time.

"It's futile. The ending is the same no matter how I see it. I'm merely statistics and I know well that a prodigy I'm not. I'm not an expert sharpshooter. I'm no operative worthy of the Assassinorum...I'm just a drop of the countless men and women that the Temple have disposed of," she began shaking violently, "This is no test, this is madness."

Kira swallowed hard, acknowledging her fears and doubts to be true.

"We're only delaying the inevitable, only the Emperor knows how this will end," Juydith began to whimper, "This is too much," she broke down and sobbed terribly.

Kira shut her eyes and drew breath as strongly as she could, "I..." she stammered slightly, "I..." she bit down her bottom lip, inducing a little pain. Her hand reached out nearly touching the Vostroyan, but withdrew her arm immediately. Many thoughts flashed before her. But from deep thought, her eyes suddenly hardened with resolve, as if she recalled some hard lessons.

"Prior to the Vindicare Temple," Kira said coldly, "I was assigned on an escort mission for an Emissary," Juydith continued her whimpering.

"We..." she paused, waiting for Juydith to pay more attention, "We were travelling across the Galactic borders when we happened along the borders of hostile space. All was well until our radars identified a band of Xeno pirates." she paused, piecing her thoughts together, "It was the Dark Eldar with a force much more formidable against our meagre fleet. With only a handful of Frigates and a Destroyers, we were outgunned, outnumbered and outmanoeuvred.

Our defences did not last long, and our team, the core escort group - a platoon of young and inexperienced initiates, soon had to face directly with the boarding party with only a barely seasoned Captain to lead us. The enemy corrupted the ship's core and disabled the internal defences with the vile intention to pillage, enslave and torture the convoy down to the very last man.

Knowing the savagery of our foes, terror stuck like lightning into the fragile hearts of the young. The Captain's resolve and leadership, too, had lost to the collectively weakened morale. The panic chamber clattered with the metal base of our boots, literally. Chaos erupted, many opted to end their own lives before the end. Knowing it would be an easier fate than the inhumane torture that'll await them.

But it was then the Emissary whom came forward, standing before us, armed, donning his old suit with all of his laurels and decorations. We learnt instantly then, from his hardened and fearless speech, that he was a retired officer, who had toiled through many campaigns and skirmishes, triumphant with valour and courage.

With the demented Xeno just about to blow the buffer gates, he said these very words:

'Every mortal soul knows fear, for the simple reason that to live is to bear hope. The hope that we will live to see another day, hope that we will live to see a better day. But it a strange thing that it is hope that would ultimately be our demise. Our death. We, as defenders of the Imperium, have to accept the fact that we are already dead. For it is with that acceptance that we would be able to function like a soldier. A warrior without fear. A defender of honour. All battles, all victory, and all of the Imperium depend upon it.

So bear your arms, men' he said, 'Unleash your wrath upon the enemy and fear no pain. For you cannot die, for you are already dead.'

Juydith's sobs have reduced, still whimpering, yet seemed to have drawn some effect from the story.

"Our lives have already been forfeit since the day we joined the Guard," Kira said coldly, "Perhaps you and I are the same. My family has been serving the Jantine Patricians through generations. And you are the First Born of your parents, required by Edict to serve the Imperium. It is fated that we were born to our duties. More so, save the Emperor, do we not face a certain Death? That is a fate that we cannot change." Kira pause, "But, there is one thing, the only thing that we can alter. A force that is within our grasp - that it is to ensure our deaths are delivered with honour. Your families..." she paused,

"OUR... families are depending on us."

Juydith sobs slowly dissipated. Her head nodding slightly as she drew a deep breath, wiping away her tears.

And in an unprecedented move, Kira moved forward and wrapped her arms around Juydith. Squeezing both her arms together, hugging her, startling the Vostroyan, not knowing that the Patrician was longing for one too.

* * *

With a violent jerk, Medicae Ally roused from a deep sleep from her chair, shaken slightly caused by dreams that she had immediately forgotten. She looked at the time, and felt like she had been asleep forever. The room had turned dark, sunlight no longer poured into the large Trauma Unit. Medical Apparatus beeped and dim lights flickered in that late evening. A strain stretched from her neck to her back, the terrible ache compounded from the awkward sleeping position on the chair upon her sleepless nights.

She wiped the drying saliva on the corner of her lips, reaching for a glass water to wet her throat. Her burning, dehydrated lips cooled by the liquid. She quickly realized the pathetic state that she had allowed her to be in.

She summarily studied Valaruz 17th's stats and concluded that he had stabilized, now laying comfortably in the bay before her. He had suffered heavy injuries from his latest mission in Xesxes, arriving back in the Valaruz Temple in critical condition, where he nearly lost his life. She was glad that he pulled through, but now that he appeared to have survived the ordeal, she ironically hoped that he would not wake too soon. A surmountable challenge lay before him – to survive the Inquisition.

The Assassin had gone beyond the previous mission's parameters, instead of just accomplishing the core mission - to cripple an infestation of Tyranid Lictors, his involvement has spurred a series of events that led to the collapse of Xesxes's entire icy-cold Northern Ridge. He had also carried out an unsanctioned assassination of Governor General Verne and his mistress. The entire regiment, following the Assassin's departure, was sucked into a power struggle. A political rift erupted, splitting the Brass with several disputing ends.

The Inquisition did not intervene until the Assassinorum released Valaruz 17th's official debrief, detailing an account of treason in the midst of the Xesxes' Ordo Militant. 'Treason', was all that was needed to have the Directoris effected– bringing all involved personnel to the suspension of his or her title, privileges, rank and assets, including that of the Assassin. They were now running a full audit and were sweeping for signs of corruption, treason, misconduct...whatever that was deemed heretical. Rumours were that many on Xesxes had been hauled to the Inquisition ships.

_Innocence is guilty of wasting the Inquisition's time. _

But whatever the story was, she was convinced that the Assassin was incapable of the accusations that anyone would lay on him. May it be or treason or heresy. However, those who know Valaruz 17th would be wary of his dissenting reputation. His callousness and arrogance could make a difference in the Ordo Sicarius's decision – the slightest insult or misbehaviour on Valaruz 17th's end could very well make flag him as Heretical. And who knew whose wrath he has incurred during the mission? Statements could be used against him, the tiniest doubt could be his doom. He would be interrogated... or worst, tortured – a fate worse than death.

She looked at him_, a rogue,_ border-lining heretic - some has labelled him_._ She was reminded of a time when he was embroiled in an argument against with one of the more pious, supercilious junior Orderlies. He criticized, mocked and provoked so much of the narrow outlook of the Ecclesiarch that the Orderly screamed and choked for the lack of breath.

She suddenly chuckled at the recollection, admitting that while frustrating, his juvenile antics and wit was a charming complement to his arrogance.

She looked at him, comfortably tucked in, revealing his chiselled, muscled bare shoulders and defined neckline. She examined him closer - his thick and dangerous eyebrows, his rugged beard, his gaunt and solid cheek bones face, his tanned skin that marked light scars from his battlefield experience. More so was his well-proportioned body that made him altogether an attractively-packaged individual. He was dangerous, strong and talented, commanding a mysterious magnetism that members of the opposite gender would find attractive.

All of a sudden, her worries were dispelled. As careless as he was, his mysterious and unpredictable ways always seem to provide escapes to the problems he had caused.

And mysterious and unpredictable he was. No one had really attempted to understand the Assassin. Not even Father Ozmattix could control him. At that, however, there was evidence of him being gregarious, always seen to have a drink and a good laugh with the lower Temple's staff. He was surmised to be a loner too, often wandered beyond the Temple's compounds at odd hours. But when he did remain at the Temple, his became a restless spirit that haunted the Temple, drifting from chambers to chambers, spending many hours smoking his cigarettes in solitude.

The Medicae, however, have a different account on him. Where she recalled, but never spoke of, the almost regular times where she had bedded with him, as a result of the Assassin's forward advances.

But what did it all mean?

Medicae Ally Damien came from a respectable family. The culture, education and parental guidance that she grew up with equipped her with the more complex understanding of the dynamics of relationships between men and women. She knew since a child the meaning of love between two people, and what it meant to be in a relationship.

Dating, marriages, partnerships, sex, mutual-exclusivity and contractual reproductive consents (whoring out, some families colloquially coined), she grew up well to learn the difference. And she became the few who, beyond serving the Imperium, that longed for a happy life. A life that she acknowledged that the most of the Imperium did not know exist. He was a friend...perhaps. A companion whom she shared many good laughs, flirts and physical pleasures. She would lay in bed with him, listen to the stories of his missions, his hilarious insults on the people around them, and at rare times, expressing his morbid outlook and emotions. At some point, she believed that they shared some kind of connection and bond, one that, however, will not lead to fruition. Perhaps both of them kept their distance where she speculated that he never wanted to go beyond commitment, doing things like what normal couples do, sharing a different form of intimacy other than just physical attraction and sex. What was she to expect from the Assassin? The prisoner of war who is and forever bound to service, whose life was given to protect the Imperium. Men who were taught and trained to be killers, not lovers, not suitors, not fathers. She knew at some level, he was a deeply troubled soul. But he kept it to himself, appearing to be mostly aloof and distant when they were together.

She understood all these, and although she has long accepted the fact that the relationship would lead to a dead end, with him around, she could always feel excitement and a fleeting moment of happiness, then all the more her heart would ache thinking that he could depart one day and never hear of his return. That cautioned her many times to keep her distance, and meanwhile, she could perhaps find another and reduce the pain of an inevitable meltdown, but she had not found one that she have such strong feelings for, not from the depraved Temple, at the very least. So she stopped suppressing her feelings and held on to the toxic feeling.

Misery loved company. It was an accident she saw coming, yet she walked into.

And the timing could not be more ironic, at the time when work and his absence allowed her to take her mind off him, the death of Chief Medicae Mohmar placed her closer than she ever could be to Valaruz 17th.

"Ughh..." the male before her groaned, causing Ally to jump and reached to his side, her hands clutched his arm gently, "You're awake."

He tried to rise, his hand held to his head, grimacing in pain, "mmm..ma, maaa..." he had trouble speaking, "Fuck," he finally managed, "Where the hell am I? How long was I out?"

He was displaying normal cognitive abilities, allowing her to breathe a sigh of relief.

He squinted in the dark room, "Ally? Is that you?"

"Yes," she replied, "You can relax, you're in the Apothecary...you're fine. There are some Tyranid toxins left lingering in your system, and your heart and liver are weak, it'll be.." she glanced to the time, "…about two hours before we can safely prepare you for a dialysis."

"Ah shit," the Assassin relaxed laying back down, "Yeah, it's all coming back now. It's that fucking Lictor, pressed me deep into the snow in that valley. Got a good cut or from that tumble off the cliff," he groaned still, "Not that Nids are that heavy to begin with anyway, lifted it like a good push-up," he spoke with his forearm blanketing over his eyes, drawing steady breaths.

"Most won't survive such encounters, especially with such heavy use of Adem" she reprimanded, "I've read the flash report, the Emperor was with you."

"The Emperor had nothing to do with it, love," he smirked in pain, his statement causing her undue discomfort with the knowledge of him under the microscopic attention of the Inquisition, "You do know you're suspended, don't you? The Ordo Sicarius is going to draw out an extensive investigation on your actions on Xesxes. Many speculate that it won't be a simple inquiry, there have been rumours about this being a political agenda amongst the High Lords of Terra."

"Nothing new, it seems," he lamented, ignoring her subtle reprimand entirely, "Those imbeciles will continue biting each other's arse for as long humans exist. And even if this will lead to the dissolution of the Assassinorum's seat, so be it. Whatever that will happen is just a matter of time."

Medicae Ally understood his point although she realized such callousness could expedite his demise, "You have really lost faith in the Imperium, haven't you?"

"Faith? Hundreds of thousands still die daily and Aliens keep eradicating our planets one after another no matter how far we thought we've beaten them back. Meanwhile, here we are, butchering our own men just because the idiotic few who occupy the great Terra round table has little else to do other than discussing the myriad ways to kill us. Just so the rest would perpetually dream of the Emperor in their shit holes." he cooed amusingly, as if he had repeated himself countless times, "But not that it matters anyway, as long as I'm allowed my quarterly pass, indulge in the material world and be in the company of beautiful women," he winked tiredly at the Medicae, "...then I'd happily kill anything the Imperium asks me to."

"That's it?" Ally tried to mask her anger, "That's all you live for? As a mercenary?"

"Perhaps..." he smiled dismissively, he pondered for a moment, his smile slowly fading, "It used to be all about the action though."

Ally was taken aback, the Assassin rarely spoke of things in the past tense, "'Used to be?' How do you mean?"

"By being different?" The Assassin seemed to be placing some thought, before he grimaced, "Ouch..." he suddenly grabbed his head, "It bloody hurts when I try to think," he closed his eyes, frowns cracked all over his face, "Hand me some painkillers if you will sweetheart."

"No," she responded immediately, "Your body is flooded with toxins and sedatives, anymore and you'll destroy your liver and give you a heart attack."

"I'll be no better in this pain," his state seemed to worsen, "Go get Moh', I need a second opinion," Valaruz 17th always refered to Medicae Mohmar as Moh'. Ally narrowed her eyes.

"He's dead," she said coldly.

Valaruz 17th stopped his fidgeting, "Really? When?"

"Couple of days ago," Ally scratched her head irritatingly. "You don't need a second opinion, the only thing you need is sleep,"

"Has the Temple already incapacitated your brains? How the fuck am I going to sleep with this fucking headache?"

"FUCK YOU," Ally snapped.

The Assassin paused, seemingly taken slightly aback with her behaviour. However, a coy smile slowly surfaced, "I know, you've been waiting on me haven't you?" His chagrin wide, "How long has it been since we've fucked?" He leaned forward to touch Ally's arms, only aggravating the Medicae.

"You think everything is about you, don't you? You narcissistic asshole. Do you have any idea what I've gone through?" her voice trailed with emotion, "DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT THE WHOLE TEMPLE HAS GONE THROUGH?"

The Assassin's smile faded.

"The Inquisition is lurching the temple left and right, the Father and the Assassinorum Tactica are working day and night to support your defence and here you are with parading your ignorance and immaturity,

Mohmar died after a security breach. A candidate attempted escape, injured a dozen and killed him along with another two.

Now, with him gone, Ira and possibly the whole fucking temple would try to kill my patients. Just because they're fucking bored.

The whole Temple is about to collapse, 17th, if you still have not realized. The Inquisition will find fault in something...ANYTHING...and you will be the first to go if you don't get your shit together."

"Indeed, very interesting," he replied, "But I don't see how any of your wonderful speech is going to cure my headache."

"Fuck you," Ally almost whispered, "FUCK YOU," she screamed, hurling the dataslate on her hands against the foot of the Assassin's bed, smashing it to pieces.

* * *

The Medicae walked towards her office, anger pounding in every rapid step. She was mad, furious, frustrated…tired at tall the crap that she has been going through. Her patients were not getting any better, Valaruz 17th was an asshole and it everything seemed like a nightmare that she wanted to just wake up from.

Her hands were inches from her door when her personal vox rang,

"_Oh...!"_ it was the shriek of a familiar female's voice, throwing the Medicae into a state of intrigue, "_It warms my heart knowing that my intuition is right, that someone does care for the pretty little thing and it turns out to be you. How are you this evening, dear Medicae?_"

Ally did not know how to respond to the woman, her voice was familiar as she tried matching the voice to a face.

"_I have to apologize for disrupting your evening. I have tendencies to be inconsiderate during stranger times, as you would remember from our previous appointment for my embarrassing sexual problem."_

"Yes, Lynn," she finally remembered, the image of what she would define as a slut appeared before her – the Munitions Instructor, "I know you," her intrigue turned into annoyance, "What do you want?"

"_Ah, I'm guessing either you're in a bad mood or I did not leave too well of an impression._" she pouted, _"Well, either way, it has become somewhat of a common avenue that women have a certain distaste over me. I have learned that it is universal that no woman would enjoy being in the company of another woman who is much more sexually gifted. Lest jealousy and envy manifest when male attention are robbed from them. Lieutenant Dessler notwithstanding. He certainly is intelligent, I'm thinking a girl like you would be exactly his cup of tea."_

Annoyance began to lunge on the Medicae's patience.

"_Just so you know, I have long passed on when it comes to the affairs of men, but this one is certainly not your typical male as I'm sure you've noticed. His ways have, in some way, rubbed off on me," she chuckled, enjoying her own puns, "It's too bad that he could not last, just about when euphoria was about to kick in. But what can I expect? A rat is a rat. When skin begins to flay, not even the meanest, toughest son of a bitch could resist."_

_Flay? _Horror slowly creeping upon her, "Wha...?"

"_And a tough rat the Lieutenant was, didn't really scream as loudly and long as I hoped he would. Should have considered giving him other drugs to keep him from passing out, would have prolonged my enjoyment..."_

Ally was dumbfounded, caused by twisted confusion and fear.

"_Oh, darn_," the twisted Instructor pouted on the other end, _"I didn't tell you what happened, did I. See? In a planet quite far away, there was this family of rats, of nature was to spread deadly plagues across the lands they trot– spreading disease so dangerous, at one point, an entire colony of men was wiped out. _

_Then there were these cats. Special cats. Natural hunters, of duty was to eradicate the existence of pest and vermins. So these cats begin their hunt, searching in every nook and cranny for these rats._

_There one of little rats, the smartest of them all, whom did not want to die by having his guts ripped off by the aggressive hunters. He wanted to live. So knowing that they would eventually get caught, he went into cahoots with his hunters. He parlayed, giving up his entire family to the cats on a platter, hoping that the cats will spare his filthy, miserable life."_

"WAIT...!" Ally tried to interrupt, she had no indication the point in any of these.

"_And nice and friendly they were while his family were being rend to pieces. The double-crossing rat got what he wanted. He was granted a free pass from being chewed between the hunters' teeth. Furthermore, they sent him to be trained, giving him opportunity to be an owl, a hunter! But a rat is a rat! They should stay in their holes and feed on carcasses and wastes like the pests they are!_

_But they never learn, do they? When a rat wants to grow a pair of wings, can he gnaw them off the predators? NO. The predators will turn and fucking rip his head off from his scurry lil body."_

"WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM?" Ally screamed, "WHERE IS HE?"

"_Oh, you should have been here. Oh, wait, you could. I'm just not sure you'll be able to take all the blood and his sweet screams."_

"WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS? WHY ARE YOU TELLING ME THESE?"

"_Why?" she cooed, "Because babe, I've been around. And men are vile creatures... most true for Lieutenant Dessler. A rat of a rat, a double-whammy, sorry excuse of a man._

_And all women should be natural allies. I'd tell you to beware of Lieutenant Dessler, but instead, I've taken the liberty to do all mankind a favour. Scum like these are reserved for hell...come down to the Junction Chamber, we can watch him slowly bleed out till death." _

Ally's thoughts were blocked for three full second, before she switched off the vox cast. Her eyes scanned the room for anything sharp...there was scalpel, needles, a hammer. _No,_ she ran towards her desk and opened a drawer, hurled out all documents to retrieve a standard laspistol. She opened another drawer and removed a Field Medicae kit...Her hands held on to them dearly and dashed madly out of her office.

She hoped she could make it to the Junction Chamber in time.

* * *

It was a long, dark corridor...

Lights flickered with steady, rhythmic beats of water drops echoed in the mouldy tunnel. An irregular set of footsteps disrupted the tempo, lapped over with the sound of heavy breathing that sent rodents scurrying away into the darker recesses of the wretched, putrid sewerage.

Wastewater soaked into her shoes, adding weight to her already tired feet. The Medicae ran with heart pumping furiously, her mind keeping her body functional to reach the destination. It was a push by her protective instinct, by her sense of duty. To prevent another death, to prevent another murder. She was sick of all of these, she was sick of the Temple.

_For repentance._ She reflected the cruel words and impatience that she had inflicted on Koch, when all he had done was to assist her in making medical decisions for Valaruz 17th.

_Here, _she stopped, catching her breath before she forced herself to open the door, to whatever horrors that await her.

Her hand twisted the broken knob, pushing the heavy door inwards.

Soft shadows danced across her eyes, the dim room humid and stuffy. The smell of fresh, coppery blood greeted her.

Lynn.

Her nude, compact, curvy body glistened heavily in sweat with her back facing the Medicae. Her head turned slowly. Her hands, pelvis and thighs were stained with blood, not far away on the ground was a scalpel.

Ally felt sick in stomach.

Koch lay still and unmoving on a concrete naked, with hands and feet bound. Blood dripped down the uneven slab to form a small pool of thick red.

"Ah, and here you are..." the demented Instructor greeted her coldly, "...a Medicae's assessments would be most fitting today."

"Why...?" Ally grimaced in horror, shaking her head, "WHY?"

Lynn merely cast a smug smile at the Medicae, merely shrugging.

"WHAT DID YOU DO?" she moved, circling cautiously around the Munitions instructor to get to Koch. Her laspistol tucked behind her, veiled underneath her overcoat.

The wicked woman brought her bloody hand close the her face, the tip of her tongue stuck out, lightly tasting the blood on her index finger, "A favour...to you and me...of course," she chuckled, "I'm amazed though, how strong that Sildenafil is. All it took was a sharp blade, a little skinning around the base of his shaft, massive amount of friction...and the skin'll slip right off."

"I never asked for any of these!" Ally yelled as loudly as she could, about a dozen feet away from Koch, "What did he do?"

"You're painfully ignorant, aren't you?" madness cackled out of her bloodied lips, "The universe has no place for naivety or compassion," she pouted, "It is the innocence that drive idiots like you to their doom," she smiled, "Take this one for example, I've rid the Imperium another lying motherfucker before he could hurt anyone."

"YOU'RE INSANE," Ally spat, her distance between the Jopalli and her began to lessen, "I'M GETTING HIM OUT OF HERE."

The female lieutenant lost her manic cheer, sighing while scratching her neck frustratingly, "You don't get it..."

"YOU'RE DELUSIONAL!" Ally yelled back, "ALL THAT HE HAS DONE, ALL THE CANDIDATES HAVE DONE, WAS TO PLAY ALL YOUR SICK GAMES...THE TEMPLE'S SICK GAMES!"

"THIS. WORTHLESS. PIECE. OF. SHIT. IS A RAT!" the instructor's shrilled back, "HE'S A SCOUR TO THE IMPERIUM."

Ally slowed down...she was almost there.

"YES, THAT'S RIGHT..." there was a twitch in her eyebrow, "NURSE HIM BACK TO HEALTH. THEN ASK HIM ABOUT ALL THE JOPALLI THAT HE HAS SOLD OUT," her arms flung about, "ASK HIM ABOUT THE VIRUS THAT KILLED THE THOUSANDS ON JOPPEX V. ASK HIM ABOUT HIS TIES TO THE INQUISITION.

ASK HIM HOW HE GOT HERE!" Lynn began to pace towards the Medicae.

The advance of the instructor halted Ally. In panic, with one hand, Ally clumsily reached to her back and drew out the laspistol. Her arms shaking, pointing the weapon at the nude woman, "STOP."

The Instructor scowled, squinting at the weapon in disbelief, before she cackled into laughter, "HAHAHAHAHA, the nice Medicae is going to shoot me!" she laughed out sarcastically, unfazed at the Medicae, "How cute," she took another step forward.

Ally pulled the trigger and deliberately miss-fired to serve Lynn a warning. Lynn stopped in her footstep in return.

"COME NO FURTHER!" Ally screamed

"DUMB BROAD!" she hailed liked a banshee, teeth bared and feet picking up to a sprint towards the Medicae. Her lean athletic body pumped with menacing and murderous intent.

Ally let off a wail, screaming before she fired another shot. But the mad instructor still moved forward. Ally squeezed the trigger again. This time the las-round whirred and burned right through the Lynn's torso. It burned, and it was evident through Lynn's face. Her movement slowed to a stagger with legs began to limp. Her anger seemed to have melted away, replaced with agony as she struggled and gasped for air.

Her belly trembled violently, a vital organ might have been struck that her whole system was thrown into mutiny. The pretty face degenerated into a visage of a phantom, the pain would be unbelievable.

Ally watched the instructor's knees crumbled to the grainy floor, her voice mangled by the pain. The Medicae froze, she could not believe that she opened fire on a staff member of the Temple.

Ally's fingers loosened, the laspistol slipped from her grasp and dropped on the floor.

"What have I done?" Regret immediately enveloped her heart, she began choking in fear. Her whole world appeared to be collapsing. She had killed one of her own. The image of the Temple descending on her like vultures had her trembling down to her boots. Her eyes darted left and right, head peering at all four corners as she were a trapped rat.

"Me…medicae Ally," she was startled by a whimper, her head turned towards Koch. His chest was still moving, taking in air, "UGGGHhhhh…!" Koch tried to suppress his pain.

She slowly picked up her feet, and then sprinted to the side of the Jopalli. Her trained eyes immediately scanned his body for injuries. There were numerous puncture wounds all over the body. They were probably needles judging by the number of needles littering around Koch. Her eyes moved to his lower body, where blood was oozing out from his bloodied penis. A chunk of skin on the shaft had been removed, exposing his flesh to the air. As the most sensitive muscle of the whole body, with the Instructor's claimed torture method, it would be dreadfully painful that anyone would just pass out. Albeit the anguish however, it was not a critical wound. The savagery however, was likely to be extremely traumatizing.

"Koch…Koch," tears were flowing out of her eyes naturally, she quickly worked the bonds that were holding him down.

"Arghhh…." Koch cringed painfully, clenching his teeth together, taking in quick, rapid breaths, "Is she dead?" he asked while Ally was untying the last of the ropes.

Ally turned her head around to confirm, "No…not yet. She might be unconscious, but she is still breathing."

"Give her morphine…and induce sleep. Then patch her up. She…must not die." The Jopalli summoned every ounce of focus that he had, "My injuries are superficial, and I wasn't drugged," He groaned as he tried to move his legs, "Leave a morphine syringe and a blanket with me, I'd administer myself."

Ally opened her aid kit and did as she was instructed, "What's happening Koch? Why is this happening?" her hands were trembling.

Koch did not reply as his hand gestured for the syringe, "Apparently I have offended the Instructor," he said simply, grimacing.

"Why?" Medicae Ally lowered her gaze to a scowl, "Don't you know any better than to provoke the temple's staff?" She nearly screamed, "What are we going to do now? The Temple is going to have our heads!"

"Mmmph…!" He jabbed the syringe into his thighs, injecting the dose of morphine, "Calm down, Ally. Our priority is to preserve the Instructor's life."

"Yes, you've told me that! What then? The Instructor will report to Father Ozmattix. She will not rest until we are dead!" Ally was immensely frustrated, grabbing onto her hair.

"Then that will not come to pass," Koch bit his lower lip, waiting for the drug to cloud over the pain, "Where are we now?"

"We…we're at the temple…" Ally looked confused.

"No, here…this room specifically," he looked to be more and more relieved.

"This is the junction chamber, situated below ground. It's the chamber that houses the central node for telecommunication and electricity lines." Ally responded.

Koch lifted his body upwards and scanned the room for almost a minute, appearing to be engrossed in thought before saying, "We leave her here."

Shock overcame Ally's face, "What? NO!"

"Listen to me," Koch's hand reached out to grab Ally's arm, "It's the logical choice," his determined eyes stared right into Ally's, "You WILL sustain her, then we leave her here until we figure out the next step. The chances of being discovered are low, else the instructor would not…" Koch paused uncomfortably, "…would not have chosen this location to stage her torture."

"You're not serious about this…" Ally shook her head disbelievingly.

"WE HAVE NO TIME, ALLY," Koch yelled as he shook the Medicae, his face reeked with desperation, "YOU HAVE PULLED THE TRIGGER. THE DEATH PENALTY IS ON YOU ALLY, SO MAKE A DAMN CHOICE."

Ally's face turned to ash. Koch was right.


End file.
